Greetings. It’s been a while. Not too much has happened here in Russia, though. Just finishing up the semester with finals and such. I did have an interesting experience a few days ago, though, when I went to the post office to try and mail my unwieldy boots back to America. I had been to the post office once before, but only to drop off a pre-stamped post card, and so while toting my cumbersome boots down and across the street I had no idea what to expect. I walked into the post office and saw ten or twelve people scattered about the smallish room. I stepped up to where I thought the end of the line was, as I assumed the people sitting on the benches were not actively waiting. However, I was mistaken, and the seated ones quickly informed me of this. Reconciling myself to the unavoidable wait, I leaned against the counter and looked for a way to occupy myself. Intermittently, newcomers entered and would ask “Кто последный?” (kto posledniy?; Who’s last?) and, after being acknowledged, would try and find a comfortable waiting position. One middle-aged man came in and asked a girl to move her bag so he could sit down and got a mere cold glare in response. He chuckled incredulously and went to squat against a vacant spot on the wall. The only people talking were a young couple cooing to each other on the bench, which made for an awkward atmosphere in the stuffy room full of older people. There was only one woman working behind the counter, which meant that dealing with each patron’s request took about twenty minutes. I was not too upset though, as I am getting used to waiting in lines, but was a little disappointed I had forgotten my ipod. Feeling anxious about what would happen when I got my turn at the window, I distracted myself by trying to read the very technical post-office protocol book. My knees were hurting from standing, though, and I couldn’t help thinking back to when I first went to the grocery store in Russia. The anxiety, the waiting in a long line, being surrounded by Russians who knew exactly what they were doing and dreading the embarrassment that would ensue once they all knew I was a foreigner: everything about the post office reminded of that challenging experience. After about an hour, the woman behind the window addressed me. However, as I thought would happen, I did not know what she said. I responded with, “Еще раз” (yesho raz; One more time). I again did not understand her, so just asked if I could mail my boots here. She smiled and responded but I did not catch what she said. I was floundering, but luckily the man next to me told me I needed to weigh it. Just like I had to weigh the bananas! Deja vu, anyone? Anyway, the boots were too heavy and I was told I needed to go to the bigger post office in order to send them. Hmm . . . so I waited an hour just to be sent off in less than a minute? I felt embarrassed at what everyone must be thinking about this helpless foreigner and slightly ticked off that I had waited so long for nothing. However, unlike at the grocery store, I did not leave cursing myself and my boots, but rather began planning my trip to the other post office. I guess I have grown more patient while in Russia. Having this curveball thrown at me when, after three months of living here and thinking I had seen everything, taught me to not believe myself 100% acclimated. I should approach life abroad with a daily-renewed curiosity if I even want to approach total assimilation, though such complete absorption seems impossible. I think that taking time to seek out these hidden, mundane aspects and grappling with them certainly helps, as overcoming the unfamiliarity allows you to enhance your ability to adapt and improve your cultural understanding. I am kind of mad at myself for feeling so blase the last few weeks, as I think it resulted from me not actively breaking my routine. Its like my dad always says, “Coulda, woulda, shoulda.”  Anyway, I gotta go. Until next time, adios.