Airing Out

It's hard to be mad and self-pitying when everyone's being so nice to you. Way to kill the angst, everyone. But thanks. And I've gotten over my cold, so way to go, immune system.

Today was a decidedly mixed bag day and I really don't have a coherent story here. My student ID was mysteriously returned to me. It appears that I had dropped it somewhere in the building and someone somehow found my address and put it in an envelope and delivered it to me. Hooray for magical mail slots that fetch forgotten items.

But that came after getting rejected by the Italian Consulate for a tourist visa. It sucks being an alien.

But then I made nachos, albeit without refried beans, which do not exist in this country. Nachos are cool, just like teaching British kids the ways of Americana:

Dave: What'd you bring?

Moi: Nachos.

Dave: You mean crisps?

Moi: No, I meant tortilla chips, no wait, yeah... I guess they're crisps... But they're corn! Isn't crisp a strictly potato term?

Hannah: These aren't potatoes? No wonder they tasted different.

(Later checked the bag and it said 'tortilla chips.' The Brits complained that that was too hard to keep track of, and I insisted that their way was more difficult. Pointed out how confusing it was that they called two different drinks lemonade. They pointed out something I didn't pay attention to. I pointed out that the rest of the world celebrates a different Mother's Day than they do. And Hannah said, "Yeah, the rest of the world also drives on the wrong side of the road." And you thought Americans were self-centered.)

But then, opened my door and was first pleasantly greeted by the aroma of freshly done laundry. Then remembered that it had almost been a week since I had last done laundry. Then realized, to my great horror, that detergent had spilled all over the floor and that there was a giant blue puddle on the carpet. Did not have time to clean it up before and now I have neither the will nor the energy, so I've thrown down a few paper towels and we'll deal with it tomorrow. Or, if I can get away with it, never. Now, as I have expressed many times, I heart laundry. Very much. The smell of it wraps tingles around my chest and at the same time excites and soothes me. But I fear that this permeation of laundry smell in the room is too much of a good thing. I still enjoy it now, but what if I get sick of it? I really hope I never sick of laundry, but I fear it may soon be happening.
The blue blob that has invaded my room, drenching carpet, syllabus, handouts, and papers from Butler I don't really care to read, as well as haphazardly thrown towels:

(PS. That's totally not a dirty sock hanging out at the upper left corner. I don't do that.)


So, er, on my weekly walk today, I walked through the Meadows, as I often do. The Meadows is a gianormous piece of green pasture for the public to walk through, a nice chunk of green space within the city that's great for picnics, jogging, and ultimate frisbees. Today, however, I noticed the golf sign.

Not going to lie, the signs concern me quite a bit, especially since this is pretty much a park we're talking about. Was under the impression that I would not be in danger of being hit on the head in such open, public spaces. And I'm really not quite sure where the golfing takes place as The Meadows is surrounded by main roads on many sides and has lots of little paths that cut across. Now in constant fear of golf balls attacking.