my sign is vital, my hands are cold

{ i like these + wish they were real. via. }

Last night I read a sentence of Harry Potter in Slovak, and learned that z means from and k means to but these sorts of fun things change according to case. This morning I woke up thinking in Italian (Ch'è successo?! Perché non sei al film?), then spent the rest of the day studying up on Victorian literature so I could write an essay on isolation in the Industrial Revolution before heading to a party for meine Deutschklasse that involved cabbage of a most alarming fuschia color and cinnamon taste. In between all that I read a really truly wonderful novel, and studied dates mnemonically with HM (whose kiwi accent made 1847 crowned our Queen from Heaven really quite dashing). It's just been that kind of 24 hours, you know? And you would think that would be distraction enough.

Wrong.

Because no matter what you're doing, you're thinking, and in my case those thoughts have been something along the lines of ohmywordwhatamIdoing and whodoIthinkIam and whereamIgoing accompanied by breatheEbreathe. I can't stop thinking that my mission papers are finally in . . . but my immediate future depends on the first lines in a big white envelope and for the next week or so I'll have no idea where I'll be this time next year at all. In my Mission Prep class people announce their calls as they come; on Monday I could hardly sit still, my stomach leaping like a small boat against the wind. A boy stood up; London South. My friend, to Auckland. I wrote my boys in Ethiopia, Brazil, and Georgia this week. I can't sit in my living room anymore; that full wall of maps is too much space to consider.

I am trying a million different ways to keep busy---and yes, this blog post is one of them---but I'm afraid this frenzy won't calm until I know for sure. I'm a planner; I like to mark things on calendars and keep mental lists of What Needs to Be Done. This waiting thing just might kill me.

Speaking of patience, our ward talent show lasted a full three hours. Which is a true testament to the many gifted among us, but I really wish I were making that up.