Green Zone

I live in the Green Zone.

OK, not the *real* Green Zone; that one is a few hours to the West. But I stay within a gated, fortified compound with people from all over the world. It’s not unusual to be sitting out back and hear a conversation in Norwegian, or accents from Scotland, New Zealand, England, Ireland, Wales, some African nations and a whole slew of countries in the Middle East and Asia-Pacific region. Not to mention the odd American.

Which are two words that pretty-much define me: odd and American.

Anyway, while I get to stay in the nurse’s quarters for free, it comes at a price. After living in my nice little flat with plenty of room for 2 years, I now have a *room* about the 1/3 the size of my old bedroom. And I have to share the kitchen and a unisex bathroom with about 20 other people. It’s led to a few problems, as you can imagine. First, it has taken away on of the great pleasures of my life: singing in the shower. I know I don’t have that great of a voice (Pavarotti himself once said that I should have any dog who howled along with my singing put down out of mercy for the poor animal. But I digress.), but I enjoy it. Jimmy Buffett, pop hits, even the odd show tune have been known to emanate from behind the flowered curtain in my bathroom. But no more.

The facilities here are institutional; while they are cleaned every day, it’s not unusual to have young ladies in the stalls to either side of you. Not really the audience I hope for, and I can’t quite seem to get them to join in to fill out the tune in four-part harmony, complete with doo-wops and sha-na-nas. And it’s not for lack of trying. But even worse than the lack of artistic expression in the shower, worse than the noise from the hall at all hours and even worse than sharing a sub-optimal kitchen is the other great absence in my life: no more naked time. No more running around my little domain wearing only a smile while checking emails, writing these missives and watching TV on the couch.

Which I’m sure is a mental image most of you don’t need.

And all of you will need years of therapy to get over.

A good story on Alice Springs: in the beginning of the year while doing my psych rotation I was talking with one of the doctors; her family had lived in Alice for a few years. When she first moved here she had a break-in; they grabbed a few things and left. About a year later, they had figured out she was a doctor; they broke in and took her well-hidden doctor’s bag (which had a small supply of needles, syringes and drugs) while she was out of town with her family. Tired of living in fear of crime and rising insurance premiums, they did a few things for peace-of-mind: installed an alarm system on their house and got a guard dog. Despite these measures, her family was robbed again a few months later:

They stole the guard dog.

And with that, it’s the weekend. I’ll spend the weekend relaxing, getting out of town with my classmates, and trying to keep busy. Not to mention trying to find ladies to doo-wop with me…

As always, Love to All and keep working on your 101 List!
Bryan