Friday, 18 March 2016

On peeing myself (again) and relativity of time vs. place

There is just no way for me not to pee myself when I am asked to give a sample. None. No matter how I stand, where I aim, how big the cup, how big the bathroom, I will somehow inevitably end up walking out with wet pants. At least a little. It is one of those facts of life, stable and predictable. Practically a family trait.
         This is the third bump on the road towards the ship called Braemar. I received the certificate on the dull lack of criminal history in the mail. I went to get another Yellow Fever vaccine, but they informed me not only is mine still good for another year, but also the WHO is about to announce that if you got it once, you're good for, well, good. So that was the second bump. 
          The third - medical exam - is what I am in the middle of at this moment. I'm awaiting results. As far as the doctor mentioned, I couldn’t be healthier. I'm in Zagreb, which is only a little further away from my home town as our own capital if you're taking the train, but it feels like another planet. We don't have trams in my country, not a single one, and I think trams are cool. It takes a little bit of getting used to, crossing the road, so as not to get hit by a small train every time, but I really like them. Swooshy, silent little things. The infrastructure of this country is a little bit behind - buildings are large, old and poorly maintained. They seemed to be going for grandness a lot. Very keen on their monarchs. Proud lot. Doggie poop doesn't always get picked up, though. Smoking is allowed in cafes. Pretty much everyone is really nice. Although I speak Croatian just fine, I feel like I am a 1000 miles away from home. It's also a lot bigger than I expected. I have no memories tied to Zagreb, because I've only been here once and that was still in elementary school. Kinda wish I didn't pack bananas for lunch, as I now don't feel like eating them and the whole purse smells like them. Yes, you read that right. Purse. I didn't bring my photo Crumpler backpack. I miss it awfully, but am being protective of the camera. Dragging around a purse feels really pretentious... Or pretending. I packed too many things. If you carry them in a purse, poorly packed things can be heavy.
          At least the weather is perfect and the radio stations are all playing last year's summer hits, which feels homey.
           I haven't seen the General - nor does the cell phone work through this network - in six hours, but because I can't call him or text or communicate in any way unless I find a strong enough wifi to text him through FB, it feels a lot longer. There is a limb off me missing if I can't text him every time I walk through a door. ('Now I did the eye exam.' 'I nailed it.' 'Now I'm waiting for the nurse to fill out my forms.' 'Now I had to take off my clothes and I got touched all over. Am still very ticklish. But it was weird.' 'Now I am looking for the X-ray clinic. Got lost in the same building twice.' 'Now I am walking back alongside a tram, carrying a vial of blood and a big photo of the inside of my chest.'....)
          Time is running very slowly.