Friday, March 6, 2009

promised quiet is not delivered

But I won't complain. Much. Last week, the landlady's daughter promised that the loud construction was out of the way. She must have just meant that my windows, mirrors, and dishes wouldn't rattle for awhile. We're debating asking for a rent reduction for these last few months we're here in Colombia, perhaps suggesting that the family construction company subsidize the difference. Hm.

I can't dwell on it. But I am.

I'm about twenty minutes away from a private Spanish lesson I didn't study for this week. It's been hot hot hot here and I know that it'll be hot hot hot in Kuwait too. Bug bites. I have to grocery shop and I'm tired.

Okay. That was my complaining. Here's my rejoicing:

My hair is cooperating even when I don't blow dry it. At least, I think it's cooperating. I remember my friend Tara saying "I don't care what it looks like in the back as long as the front looks good." Um. Claire sucks her bottom lip in and grins and it cracks me up. I ran ten miles this morning. Last night was a girls' night out and Claire stayed home with Papa and went to bed just fine while I ate a plate of calamari with Nira, Kristy, and Lindy.

Okay. I feel better. Now I need to find those Spanish verb conjugations.

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