The silence begins...

Okay, so wook doesn't ship out into the field until afternoon today, but it's still enough to document that my communication with that boy is stagnant until next Friday sometime.

I expect something of a text along the lines of..."Hey baby, I'm alive. And I'm on my way to Old Town to drink my weight in margaritas."

I actually requested to just know that a.) he made it, and b.) he's off to have a big meal and some booze because I know I might need it to get through this week and I'm not even the one there. It'll be a good evening for him when he gets back. Until then. Errrr, not so much.

When I asked him if he was ready to eat eyeballs since they're high in nutrients, he said, "That's gross." Well being the tv junkie I've become lately, I've been able to catch my Man vs. Wild/Survivorman episodes and have been taking plenty of mental notes. Bear Grylls was even in Hell's Canyon (the Snake River on the OR/Ida border!) and made it out. And I do believe he pronounced our state correctly. Yay.

So while wook has plenty of fuel storage to live off himself for a week, we'll see what he actually gets to choke down. That's kinda the only thing I want to know. 'What's the grossest thing you had to eat?' 'How many times have you brushed your teeth since?' :)

The rest of that survival training doesn't really interest me because I unfortunately don't have a desire to a.) participate, or b.) really know how all the guys and gals I know in the flight program are being man-handled. I like to focus on other things. Like how I leave in less than 10 days, tentatively.

I've made a good dent in my storage unit in the past couple days. It's a nice chance to get out and get my mind off of where wook might be and what he might be doing. I have a small chunk set aside for Salvation Army and another smaller chunk to go to the Women's Mission. I was able to look through my boxes of books yesterday, and somehow I kinda got a little panicky. I somehow felt their torture of being stuffed in boxes when they should be out on a fabulous shelving unit. Categorized. Perfected. Instead they're in boxes, shoved on a shelf, labeled "books" because I don't have the energy to break down which titles are in which box. Poor things.