It’s sortof strange, planning an introduction to a blog. Do I say I’ve never tried this before? Warn everyone in advance that I may flake out and let it wither within weeks? Or remind them that I’ve spent the last four years either out of school, or in agricultural school, neither of which help out a writer in the creative ways that allow for slick, hiccup-free blogging.
I have elected to spend a semester in Brazil. To help fund this experience, the Study Abroad Office at school has generously awarded me two scholarships. In order to receive this money, I have to commit to a set amount of work hours, and the list of work options kinda looks like fun. Options include a flicker account with all my (“decent lady”) pictures of the experience, a blog documenting the travels, classes, food, and dancing I am so looking forward to, visits to local high schools recruiting for K-State, womanning the study abroad table at the fair, etc….. I mean, come on. This is work? This sounds fishy to me. But, I bit.
This blog is born for two specific reasons. It will help fulfill some of my obligations to the International Affairs Office. But, the more I think about it, the more I wish this was my idea. I will be in a completely new country for almost seven months, with no phone, and a family at home that is capable of worrying holes through stones. This is a perfect opportunity to keep them up on life in Santa Maria without having to call all fifty of them on my free weekends. When I am tired and don’t want to put forth the effort of formulating complete, adult-level lines of thought, I plan to just post some pretty pictures. Brilliant!
Now, if I could only get there, maybe I could start to sleep.
As the date on my itinerary nears, I find myself awake in the quiet hours of the night, scribbling lists which form a mad woman’s novel: get epi-pen prescription updated, give Katie her tights back, email out visa application checklists for my family, find bowl for fish….. oh, crap, TAXES….. cancel car insurance, phone service, utilities…. Scrap papers litter the floor around my bed, the cup holder in my car, the extra fridge space, the pockets of all my old man sweaters. So much has been done already. Everything I own is in a 10x12’ storage unit, my mail is forwarded to Dad’s office, my financial aid is all lined out (I hope), I finally got my visa, I have given away my fish and my worm farm (which would be difficult for most people, but my family is just so cool… ), And yet, every night, another lightbulb sets off a chain reaction. This whole thing has more of a feel of migration than temporary observation. That is to say, it feels big. But don’t tell Dad and Goggie I said that… There just aren’t stones enough.