Hiding Out

I think I’m breaking Peace Corps Volunteer Rule number 136: Don’t hide in your house. But I can’t help it, today just went downhill. Luckily I’m not having any issues of depression, cultural unease, or homesickness; instead, I’m only suffering from embarrassment and preoccupation with the Olympics. I just got back from the market in the New Town, where I had been happily scrounging for the last decent vegetables left in the sunbaked stalls, reacquainting myself with the village women hawking their tomatoes and llakra (weeds, essentially) when I slipped on the shiny cobblestone and took a total nosedive right in the center walkway. My hand (now swollen) and purse stopped my fall, though the eggs that I had just recently purchased and stashed inside for safe keeping were sacrificed, thoroughly soaking my money and everything else in slimy yellow yolk. I quickly gathered my things and cowered to my office, realizing that no one was in and that I was wasting my time, and in the stifling midday heat I hiked back uphill toward my shtёpi.
Once back in my safe haven I promptly flung myself across the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. Our house is temptingly cozy, enough so that if I’m not careful I could easily hermitify myself and happily live out the two years meditating and reading historical fiction. So anyways, not only is the power on, but one of our 3 TV channels is streaming the Olympics! Surely my luck has changed! By the way, that American gymnast that won silver for parallel bars sure looks pissed next to the two beaming Chinese medalists.
OK no more power. S’ka drite! I’ve found another distraction--- recycling cereal boxes by weaving them into vegetable baskets. Genius.