Dear all,
I have been renamed. My Georgian teacher calls me Keti, and insists that I, as well as all of you, have been saying it wrong our whole lives. We say cady she says, and "Georgians cannot say." Jessica's name for me would be out right awful. Keti, said with an immense amount of force behind the t, is the only proper way to say my name. According to Marika.
I am halfway through the third day of lessons, and I am so tired. Georgian is a hard language, with so many extra sounds, many of which are sounds that americans only make when they are sick. One of them actually sounds like that noise that Anika makes when you stab her in the throat. I will get there eventually, the teacher says, but I am not ready to believe her. Instead I want to give way to a despair that would result in a three day coma. Yeah, that sounds nice. Three days of sleep. But ჯ, ჰ, ქ, and წ would plague my dreams I am sure. We finished Methedology yesterday, and are now ready to move onto intercultural learning. I, along with all my fellows, have very high hopes for this class. We are all praying it might be full of light and interesting information that will be automatically stored in the back of our minds to recall once we are at home again, that we might dazzle our families with our random facts about a strange land. That is what I am hoping for at least. If we are expected to takes notes and remember facts, I fear my head will simply fall off.
Yep, fall off. It will fall onto the floor, where, in a rush to give me aid, my sweet new friend Craig will accidently kick it out the window. Then Drew (The other Mormon here!) will volenteer to run down and grab it before it starts to get licked by the dogs. Then Nino (our current taskmaster/a super sweet and helpful Georgian) will tell me to talk to the doctor when she come tomorrow, and she will write in her book that my head fell off.
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