3- Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Have you ever woken up really early and your first thought is: “MRAAAAAAAAAAGGHHHHLLLAAAAAFFFX!!!!!” Followed by thrashing around in your room looking for the light like a gorilla on Quaaludes, only to find the light, turn it on, and then regret that choice? Yeah, that was my morning. The place where abstract thought occurs in my brain was reduced to monosyllabic wants and needs.

Eric. Bath. Brush. Teeth. Pants. First underwear, then pants. Eric hate underwear. Shoes. Wrong foot. That’s better. Peace Corps. Today? Crap. Sleep… On… Plane…


I turned on some Lil’ Wayne to kick start my day,* and, to my own amazement, completed all manner of hygienic functions. I may have nodded off briefly while flossing. My entire family was up along with me to see me off. I don’t think that there is any greater display of affection than being up before dawn.

My two fifty pound bags waited for me by the door. They were stuffed to the breaking point. It seemed that if I looked at them cockeyed they would explode, launching all my worldly possessions to the four winds. My dad went to pick up one of the bags. The handle promptly broke, as if to say, “You’re not going anywhere!” We attempted to MacGyver it back together with safety pins and good intentions. After staring at it wearily for a few moments, I picked it up via bear hug, and waddled to the car. We threw the bags in the car as best as possible and drove off to the airport.

The sun was beginning to rise as we drove through El Segundo. We sat in the car exchanging morning pleasantries and quippy comments about Albania, as the Beach Boys played, barely audible, on the radio. There was construction going on at LAX, I wondered if it would be finished when I came home again. My whole family gathered around me as I checked in my bags at the airport, taking their last opportunities to give me a hand with my bags. Then we hugged. Like, really hugged. The kind that don’t come along a lot. Then I was on my own. Off I went.

There wasn’t much I could do besides put in my earphones, and turn on Jay-Z’s Blueprint 3…
Fear not when
Fear not why
Fear not much while we’re alive…


Yup Hova… That’s about right.


* There has been a somewhat shocking relationship between the amount of gangster rap I consume, and the closer I get to leaving for the Peace Corps. I can only assume that this has to do with a need to justify my thug.