i wear boots that were made for walkin'

And that's just what I used them for.


After spending what seemed like ages but was actually only days, I walked out of a place my gut nicely told me I didn't need to go. My listening skills are getting better, but I seem to have a knack for wanting to prove myself wrong. (Why would I ever want to prove myself wrong when I could easily prove myself right and get a morale boost from the correctness?)

I went to help out a youth hostel in a very beautiful place in Bulgaria. As cool as the project is (turning an old schoolhouse into a hostel) and as much as I love plastering (really and truly), I walked into the place and immediately knew it wasn't for me.

Perhaps the place was, but the people weren't.

It was the sort of situation where all participants aren't on the same page. I just wasn't in the same mental space as them. And it was a mental space I didn't care to travel to inhabit.

There are a couple of English gals there that I will miss having laughs with- in the evenings when we're tired... in the afternoon when we've inhaled too much plaster dust even through our face masks... They tried to teach me how to speak in an English accent. Turns out, you can only move your jaw (no smiling!) and it really helps if you just pretend to be the priest from The Princess Bride... I tried to help them speak more "American" (luckily, they like my accent AND my politeness) and was going to bake them their first pumpkin pie soon (I had success with my apple pie the other night).

We had planned cool things to do: Carmella Speaks in "English" for a Day... Butter run to town... Crochet Hat Class... And our antics were hilarious, plaster fumes or not: D dancing like a baby camel at feeding time... mustaches on face masks... L reading the name of some obscure British musician off a piece of paper I'm holding up next to the head of the guy demanding she know who they are (I stole who he was playing from the computer that was out of her sight)...

But, alas. I'm not as big a fan of second-hand smoke as I thought I was nor being stuck when I could use my boots for walking.

So, walking is what I did. Out the door and into town. Escorted by the two sweet but sadly mangy dogs from the hostel until I hitched the rest of the way.

And now I am sitting happily and sleepily, for the second night in a row, in Little America in Kardjali, Bulgaria with an American/Bulgarian family that I think I have just adopted as my own.


I love this life.