I find myself whistling a Christmas carol, one whose name I can’t place. It doesn’t seem fitting to have Christmas on my tongue when I’m wiping sweat from this 34-degree (Celsius, remember) day off my brow. This heat knocks me out. I stayed late at school to tutor and then came home and crashed on the couch, falling asleep on Dennis’ stomach while he watched a movie at deafening volumes. When I awoke, he wanted to go for a run and asked if I would accompany him to the Centro de Convivencia, which is where people run outside; I agreed and sat in a virtual ant hill while he ran around in a circle for twenty minutes. I’m in the last tens of pages of The English Patient and as my eyes followed the lines of beautiful prose down the page, I must have been interrupted at least three dozen times by ants I felt, or thought I felt, crawling on my arm or around my neck or in other more unmentionable places. Even now, as I sit here in the safety of my ant-proofed home, I am nervous that my body has somehow trapped these little shit heads in and I’m bringing them back to nest in my house and to set up a colony that will eventually drive me out.
In other news, there are only 9 school days left before we leave for the States. It will be so nice to be home for Christmas and for New Year’s, and hard to believe that when I come back to Brazil in January, I’ll have less than six months until I leave for good.
Oh, dear. I realize I never let you all in on my plans. In a nutshell, here are the possibilities on the horizon. (And please excuse their vagueness…I don’t want to jinx myself out of any of them.) So here goes:
- grad school
- teach in CT
- teach in another country
I am pursuing each of them with equal vigor and actually won’t know anything about any of them until February. I’ll keep you posted, of course.
It’s really hot right now, so hot it feels like the night is going to crack with heat. There’s a haze on the horizon and things are pretty still. I’m looking forward to a good evening thunderstorm, but hope it holds out until Dennis and I come back from getting a beer up the hill. Something about still summer nights calls for cold beer.