Chiang Mai University, in its ongoing effort to bankrupt me, has done it again. I publicly predicted that they would not have my working papers by this Friday afternoon (which would mean that I would have to go back to Burma TWICE instead of once); but I was wrong. They did have my working papers.
Only, they were addressed for Vientiane, Laos, instead of Burma. So instead of taking some cushy buses to Burma and then Bangkok, where I know what I am doing, I have to schlep all the way to Vientiane and then do God knows what. Cross something called the "Friendship Bridge" apparently. Probably risk death on mountain switchback roads not made to be used by big buses. Sleep in a Thai woman's ass crack. Sharing a bus with geese and the rest of the Biblical duos. Khun Noah hogging the bathroom.
What am I doing what am i doing what am i doing.
In other news, I woke up this morning myoclonically, when I punched my side table as hard as I could. I was having a dream in which (dream description ahead) I had been enrolled in a summer dance camp, all-male. Obviously I was pissed off and tried to get out. But the lead counselor kept bothering me and taunting me and telling me that I HAD to stay. So I tried to punch him in the face.
That's when I woke up with sore knuckles, half off the bed.
Also, Mom, Dad, Leslie, can you help me out with this one: I was married to this girl that I definitely recognized but I can't think of her name. Here comes a blast from the past: there were two girls, about our age I would guess, with black hair, usually worn back in a pony tail. Had quite a bit of dark black arm hair. The Dad looked like John Stockton, played tennis, maybe ran? He had well-toned calves.
Anything? Maybe Mallory or Morgan. Black hair all around. I think they lived in the neighborhood.
Thanks for reading, everyone that is not my mom my dad and my sister. Feel free to guess the identity of those childhood spirits as well, if you so desire.