My last week in the California was a blur, literally and figuratively. It’s hard to fathom how many people that you’ll have to say goodbye to upon leaving for two years, and harder still to fathom how many drinks will be bought for you upon leaving for the Peace Corps. During daylight hours in my last Los Angeles week, I was a pale hollow shell of myself, as late nights seeing friends pounded my biology to oblivion. It was as if they would rather have me dead in Los Angeles, than alive in Albania. I love my friends.
While giving my bags a final weigh* I stepped on the scale to see that I had lost five pounds. Unsure where the mystery weight dissolved from** I decided to feel a small twinge of pride for my last week as a Californian. If nothing else, I brought myself ever closer to death, saying goodbye to my friends.
Seemingly, out of nowhere, after waiting for six months, I was leaving. Doing theatre doesn’t make you good at saying goodbye to people; I tend to think that I’ll run into everyone again at the next show or audition. When the guy who plays Hamlet wakes up and bows every night, there is little that seems permanent. However, unless there is an Albanian production of The Last Five Years, I doubt that will be the case.
My last night in California was spent with my family, watching Battle: LA. We have a tradition of eating terribly and seeing violent films to celebrate things. The Mothers Day that "Gladiator" came out was one of best. I was vaguely sentimental while watching Aaron Eckhart’s chiseled chin grimace, as he fires some, much needed ass-whuppin at an alien ship, in order to save the good people of Los Angeles from certain destruction. I remember thinking, I should have joined the Marine Corps, they get to fight aliens, I just get to fight… intolerance… or something… I haven’t been to orientation yet, check back later.
My flight was early the next day, and sleep was a less attractive option than staying awake and doing supremely American\Californian things. I may or may have not done the following:
1. Eaten an incredibly large burrito whilst watching Iron Chef.
2. Sped down the 405 rapping along with Kanye’s new album***. Because, I am living in the 21st century, and summarily, attempting to do something mean to it.
3. Rocked a round of that dance game for the Wii.
4. Walked around the beach, snapping mental pictures of the Pacific.
5. Can of Whipped Cream + Mouth + Southpark = best way to end a night.
It was around 3 in the morning when I finally decided to get some sleep. I knew that it was going to be a rough morning. I was to fly to D.C. and then after staging, on to Munich, then Tirana, then Elbesan, where I would be spending the next ten weeks, learning to be a Peace Corps Volunteer.
*A process that is far more daunting than it seems. It involves standing on the scale in order to weigh yourself, holding the bag in question, having a friend (my mom) read the scale, and then subtracting your weight from the weight of you holding the bag.
**Muscle mass, a large chunk of my liver, probably part of my soul.
*** Mom, it’s still in the car, right under your Lyle Lovett CD in the changer, I left that for you.
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