Guh?

As I had anticipated, the Angel of Slumber was about as elusive as a "friendly, helpful" sales associate in those cookie-smelling crematorium-hot mall stores during the Holiday Season. I intend to write a very strongly worded letter to the Make-Believe Creatures Union; that hag's going on welfare in a month if I have anything to do with it.

Today, Turkish. It was a really really bad lesson. Well, let me rephrase: the lesson itself wasn't bad, but my two compadres in the class hadn't really done the homework. And by "really" I mean "at all." So it was me, watching in horror as my Black Sea/Istanbulli teacher grew more and more agitated. Chalk should not shatter when it is pressed on the board. His eyes rolled back in his head so far that you could see his retinas and his optic nerve. Hey, at least it wasn't me this time. Nothing makes you want to projectile-vomit out your nose more than when your teacher finally realizes your shortcomings and has fantasies about smothering your Anglophone, Turkic-butchering cake-hole into oblivion whilst you slumber. What makes the experience of having him as my teacher fun is that we are classmates twice a week, in French class and in the Glorifcation of Jihad class. Tonight I got an email from him asking if we could study French together. Nothing reeks of chewy, chocolatey brownie points like helping your instructor as a friend. I would like to say that I am just a nice guy, but grad school is like the Serengeti. David Attenborough is NOT going to film me being torn asunder by hyenas. What a nature-porn hound he is. I don't care if he HAS been knighted.

Then, work. Today a slim Asian woman came up to me and I helped her understand her visa and her brand-spanking new I-20. She asked a few questions and then looked me in the eyes and said, "Do you think I am obsessive-compulsive?" It caught me off-guard, mostly because it's something I often think about some of our more..uh..frequent "customers." I mean, I understand that living here as a non-immigrant must really suck a lot, especially with new Department of Homeland Security rules enforced. But some of these people are like the plagues of Egypt. They just keep coming, and with stranger and more dread problems. Some people you see once a year so that you can sign their travel documents; I can count on two hands people who come in to the office at least twice a week. I'd like to think it's because of the sexy bearded Italian staffing the front desk, but they probably just are lonely. I'm really glad that I got to have such close, great friends in Turkey. Seni seviyorum, Turk arkadaslari. Anyway, back to the story. So I told her, no, in fact she was not obsessive-compulsive and was merely concerned about matters that, to an international, could be very scary. At least, that's what I said to her face. Muahahahahahahahaha. Just kidding. She was a sweetheart. I've taken to wearing my nametag at work to make it harder for people to call me "the bearded guy" when I am not there. I guess that's better than "that lardy Mediterranean hair-whale."

Tonight, some much-needed sleep, aided by some random allergy coctail. Will Benadryl and Tylenol Sinus and Nyquil taken together be enough put me into a coma? One can only hope. Tomorrow I have a full workday and French, which is better than death by spiked wheel, methinks.

All my love to my readers, far-flung across three continents. All of you are dear to me, even if I don't tell you so.

Demir (Dom)