I’m sick. Last night at 3 in the morning over the telephone, our PC medical officer Viktor diagnosed me with “ze’ amoebas and ze’ vomits.” Yes, friends, I’m experiencing my very first Kerblockistani parasitic infection. The honeymoon phase is OFFICIALLY OVER. I’m also suffering a soar throat and bronchial infection. I’m literally falling to pieces. I shoulda knocked on some wood after my last blog entry.

This whole past week I’ve been alone in my village. The other volunteers have gone to visit their permanent sites, so I’ve had a little taste of what the next two years are really going to be like. Life itself is still awesome --surprise, surprise-- even without 10 other Americans lurking around town to steal my thunder (that’s a joke, really).

I’ve been teaching classes with the local English teacher. I work with 5th graders-11th graders, and my personal favs are the 7th and 9th graders. From what I gather by the English Club turnout, they are the kids who are really excited about a cultural exchange— they help me improve on my Russian and I/them English. They tell me what’s cool and happenin’ in the village and buy me ice cream; I talk about American youth culture and folk/indie rock and feed them peanut brittle. It’s a beautiful thing. They really love Voxtrot and Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. They didn’t take to Wax Museum Pandemonium right off, but oh-ho they will. ;) They think that Tom Waits is just hilarious.

Oh man, I miss you guys. I put off looking at pictures of friends, listening to certain music, watching movies, and reading my favorite books until very recently… thinking that I was some kind of hardass and would never feel homesick enough to want obsess over these things. How I ever felt so superhuman is beyond me now.

Whenever I remember the old perks of home— living near family or friends or my life in Austin or being a university student or having full access to a decent library or hell, an entire bookstore— I feel all warm and fuzzy. But after a few seconds of toasty, blissful reminiscing, I end up feeling just kind of tepid and, yes I’ll say it, displaced (this is like confession). There are just so many things that I didn’t see to before I left.

A weak example: The other day I suddenly remembered studying a few sketches by Kathe Kollwitz for a German test a few years back and really wanting to become more familiar with her life and works. Funny-- the soviets received her so well, and I can’t find even a smidgeon of evidence that she existed at all here. And it’s not just the fact that I can’t research Kathe Kollwitz that’s driving me insane. I’ve already thought up and forgotten about a thousand things that I’d like to look further in to, and I just can’t. My resources as of late have been uber-limited, and maintaining a working list for two years is not realistic. I need to suck it up and come to terms with the fact that I will never, ever be able to know everything. Ever.

Also, I really wish that I had looked into buying a new Ipod because mine self-destructed not too long after landing in K-stan. I totally thought it was going to live longer than the 3 ½ years that it had already. I have too much faith in electronics… Anyway when I listen to music, it’s straight off the laptop.

And lastly, I didn’t get enough Late Night Dance Party. Only a few friends were as all about it as I was. Sara and Amarin are probably sick of hearing me bellyache about how life isn’t as sweet without the post-LNDP hangover; I mention it in just about every letter I write to them. It really was good for morale, you know. My colleagues think I’m crazy when I wistfully suggest that we all get together somewhere away from village eyes just to dance.

Now, if I want to get physical in any way (a simple jog around my neighborhood would raise eyebrows), release any pent-up aggression, or sing unabashedly I have to wait until laundry day—my favorite day. It may seem odd, but it’s almost my Kazakhstani equivalent to LNDP. It’s a great workout, though it’s murder on my back. And afterwards I feel like I’ve really accomplished something; I can see and smell and feel the results of my exertion drying on the line. On laundry day, Louisa, Doomira, and I coalesce outside in the banya room, where we scour and slosh our dirty laundry around in steaming, soapy tin tubs, and I sing my old LNDP favorites (Folsom Prison Blues, King of Carrot Flowers, What’d I Say, Remix to Ignition).

Every night I scroll through the hundreds of pictures that I took of you guys this past summer. Remember what a dork I was carrying that bigass dinosaur of a camera around and snapping shots of you against your will? Well I’m really glad that I did that. My dreams are filled with your beautiful, smiling, tipsy faces…

So pictures, books, and music— trusty old comfort crutches that they were in the beginning— lift me up only to break my heart once they rouse any warm memories I have associated with them. I suppose they might have had a similar emotional effect on me before my Kazlife, but here, a million miles from everything, the effect is so much more poignant.

Special Shoutouts:

Noah, whenever I see a Magpie, I think of you. There are so many here.

Bug, 16 is one of the better years. Party on.

Amarin, see the girl with tha red dress on--she can do the birdman all night long!! Uhhhhhh (uhhhh) Hohhhh (hohhhh) Waaaaaaaaow! Shake that thang! Oh, and happy B-day, Darlin.

Sara, stay perfect. Just joking. Don’t stress out! Toot Toot. Beep Beep.

Van, I heart your scrubs. I take care of them. They take care of me. It’s true love.