Re-Evaluation

My coordinator so enjoyed our internal evaluation that he decided we should do another this week.

On one hand, the organizational evaluation had been informative and fun, and was vital to accountability and good work practices.  On the other, I was due to have an internal evaluation of my own soon, and have never been able to adequately justify my flagrant disregard for potential lives at my monthly shareholders' meeting.  Perhaps I should recommend Butters' phone company and its wide variety of apps to our leadership?  I could include it in my evaluation report, but this would require that my coordinator actually read it...

I truly was glad to be home, even though I also had to re-evaluate my blessings.  For example, after regular water at home, I left for four days on the field - scooping water from a tank into a large basin to bathe – and returned to the very sudden onset of the dry season.

Filling our water filter every day, washing dishes without running water, doing laundry by hand every few days... these things used to be annoying.

Until there was very little water for any of them, much less all of them and bathing and flushing while sharing with two other people.

I sat in the filth of our apartment with laundry piling in one corner and dishes piling in the sink, wondering when I would break.  Timbit already had some sort of intense water conservation method in place, but was worried about using water to boil pasta.  At that point, I decided to buy drinking water because she needed to eat and Butters drank like a thirsty fish – this would be my unsung sacrifice.

When the drought ended – after two weeks of fretting and begging bidons of water from our landlord and Carrottop and BFG – I learned that Butters had actually avoided bathing for the greater good.

I was all warm and fuzzy from our teamwork (though I'd assumed he'd been joking when he proposed it, and would definitely not have supported this route), and the work of filling our empty water reserves was accomplished with the camaraderie of war veterans.

I think the fact that we have begun an apartment-wide Bible study helps with this.  I now have three a week, and this makes me inordinately happy because we're spending time together and with God and this will not leave us unchanged.  Though sometimes I wonder how far we have to go; all our cultures feel so similar and yet so very different.  One of the members of my church Bible study group was open about his confusion.

“So - India!  You know, they have the music and the films.  I hear them everywhere, I see them everywhere, I hear their names...  Tell me, what is the appeal for the people?”

I stared at him in mute shock.  They're bright, pretty, and lively. The scenes are rich and grand and make you dream of love and fairy tales, which you and your fellow citizens could use, you cretin.

But that was just an instinctive, emotional facsimile of patriotism.  I tried to change his perspective by explaining how I loved Korean dramas and pop music, and that the cultural exports of another country were vital – both for the pride and economy of the country in question and for the humanization and connection of different cultures.

“From where?”

He seemed unconvinced about Indian media and names, but now faced the added Hallyu threat.  And the rest of the world wonders about the appeal of Africa and its people, so I suppose we're all even.  At zero.

Of course, sometimes there is such a thing as too much appreciation.  Such as when my stalker stopped by on Friday afternoon for a chat about my personality and weight.

“You like to be by yourself.”
Whatever gave you that idea?  Now go away.
“You enjoy solitude.  There is something that you keep within yourself.”
God, is all flirting so stupid, only we don't realise it because of the attraction?  My mother may never have grandchildren.  I am a failure.  I wonder if I still have peanuts at home.
“You eat just to live.  You don't enjoy food.”
You are a deeply silly man.

Thankfully, one of my coworkers interrupted our inner and outer monologues and allowed me to evade an invitation to eat with the man - it was the highest point of that day.

Earlier, I'd been interviewed by a radio station to share information on mental health – hopefully our listeners did not assume I was Exhibit A.  I do not excel at ad-libbing, and trying in French seemed futile; it was all I could do to avoid the thought of my nasal voice and egregious errors on the radio reaching... tens of people, because this would have resulted in freezing, shooting blood from my eye, or detaching a limb and fleeing the room.

That Sunday, after spending an afternoon doing laundry in the sauna that was Carrottop's and BFG's tiny bathroom – because their buckets still runneth over – I was forced to once again face my high school friend at church.  He would be going away for two months of summer vacation, but I-- I mean, he still had to get through a couple of weeks of exams.  He also informed me that, while I was dressed well, God didn't really allow women to wear pants in church.  I, swaddled in a summer dress with a shirt and jeggings, resisted the urge to say that God wasn't looking up my dress.

As you can imagine, the conversation went downhill from there.

When he said I was going to hell due to the grave misfortune of only having been baptised as an infant instead of being held underwater long enough to cause brain damage as he had, I began to wonder if anyone would really miss him.  It was obvious from his grin that he was half-joking, but my patience with him had worn out at least two weeks ago.  Behind a wide smile and gritted teeth, I murmured that I had no responsibility to listen to him, and that if he was truly worried about my salvation (and, incidentally, his), he should speak to Pastor or a leader in the church, whose advice I might accept.

He seemed slightly offended at this – silly me, who knew the teenage male ego was so fragile (I don't deserve heaven) – but Pastor called me away just then and we were all saved.

Speaking of close calls, I think my coworkers are discovering my dark secrets.  I was in charge of the follow-up of a midterm project evaluation, and had been trying to corral our finance team for quite some time.  You wouldn't think it would be this difficult as our head accountant is tiny and delicate - I'm fairly sure I mistook her for a small child and invited her to sit in my lap when we were squeezed together for N2O's wedding (thankfully, everyone assumed I was joking) – but she is canny.

“Hey!  Can we meet today to--”
“Maybe tomorrow?  I'm just on the way to the bank!”
“Um, sure.  So you'll have all the documents--”
“Oh, yes, yes – by the way, you look beautiful today!”

It was only when I'd skidded a corridor away from her that I had the sneaking suspicion I'd been played.

Well done, Madam; I will see you tomorrow.

And I will accept compliments with grace.

And I will dress like a bag lady.