So I have decided this blogging thing is far more difficult than I would have thought. I am not very good at it either. It doesn't seem nearly exciting enough to write about the mundane (and yes, even doing what I am doing, living a few kilometers away from what some consider to be a genocidal war, has incredibly mundane days. In fact, most of my life rests somewhere between mundane and uninteresting) and the note worthy doesn't seem to occur on a frequent enough basis to write about it. Faithful readers, I salute you. (Hi Mom). For reading when I don't write about anything interesting, and checking dutifully to see if I even found the mundane to be inspiring. Not that I am not inspired. Oh no, there are far too many cultural stimuli, things to learn, intense life-on-the-border stories, food to try, random/strange/just really weird travelers and ex-pats that live in Mae Sot, to ever make life boring. It has though, I suppose, settled into some type of norm; a routine. And it is always difficult to write about routine. So read on if you don't mind hearing of the mundane, or are just bored at work and feel free to leave a comment if anything strikes you (though, if that's just you, Mom, maybe just email).
A quick rundown of Amy's Week in Mae Sot:
I was in the office, a lot. I recognize that every cool job has an uncool, necessary subset. For me, that's paperwork. If I am not in the refugee camps interviewing incredible families with fascinating stories (cool) I am in the office for days at a time typing up reports and recommendations from the interviews (not cool). I don't mind the office that much. There is good coffee to drink all day, so that helps. And, I am still thrilled to death to have the chance to do what I have dreamed about for so long, so it makes everything ok. Though if I could create a world that did not include the words "report", "word attachment", and "editing revisions" I believe life in general would be better.
I interviewed an older Karen couple with the cutest little boy I have ever seen. He is seven. And orphaned. And applying with his doting, adoptive parents for resettlement to Canada. And he has HIV. As I swung him around the room, doing my special routine of Which-one-of-us-will-get-dizzier-and-fall-over-first, and he screamed and clung to my neck as his eyes rolled back in gleeful terror, I realized how lucky I was to be there, at that moment, and be blessed by the life of the little boy I twirled around in my arms. He wants to be a doctor when he grows up, he informed me seriously. Canada = medical care, citizenship, a future.
I have discovered a sort of really-small-border-town-in-Thailand rendition of a gym, which I have attempted to frequent nightly. They have 4 sets of weights, 2 elliptical machines (which I thought were only used by sorority girls with swinging ponytails who were already in shape but have actually discovered that I actually like them (elliptical machines, not sorority girls)), 2 treadmills, 8 stationary bikes, and 3 incline benches. Not exactly a Gold's Gym, but it's something. At least I don't have to resort to "lifting" my Nalgene bottle, filled to the top with rocks, which I did faithfully in Benin for a year-and-a-half. There is no AC and it is quite stinky, but it is something.
Attempting to come up with a creative solution to my bathroom sink, whose plumping is nonexistent, leaving the water to go down the drain and out a pipe that empties, sink level, on my feet. It really is gross. I mean, take the brushing-teeth dilemma. So I spit in the sink which them empties spit and toothpaste on my feet. Or even not as bad as that is the equally-gross hand or face washing dilemma. In this dilemma, I wash my face or hands because they are dirty, and then all dirty hand/face washing residue either runs all down my leg or splashes up on me if it happens to miss my leg directly and hit the tiled floor first. It is kinda like taking a bath and shower at the same time with already-used-bath water when all I want to do is rinse off my contacts. Why the owners/builders of the apartment complex could not have just finished the plumbing like they do everywhere else in the developed world, or even not completed the plumbing at all, but run the pipe - which is already in existence - out the wall I don't know. That would have worked out just fine. Cut a little hole in the wall and run the pipe outside. Problem solved. I am tempted to cute a whole in the wall myself, but am afraid I won't get my deposit back (fifty bucks is fifty bucks). My technique right now is a simple, albeit only mildly effective one: I put the sink drain plugger (does that thing have a name?) in the drain, but only partially plugging it. So, that way, the toothpaste/soapy/makeup/contact goo/dirt water only trickles down to my feet, instead of gushing and splashing everywhere. I could get a bucket to put under the pipe-that-should-be-running-out-the-wall-dangit that could catch all of the water, and just empty it when it got full, but the thought of a that amount of dirty toothpaste/soapy/makeup/contact goo/dirt water sitting around in a bucket dissolving and not dissolving and rising to the top and sticking to the edges really grosses me out. Then I would have to empty it. Then what am I supposed to do with it? I can't carry the bucket outside - or I guess I could, but people would see me and get all disgusted at the weird white girl that collects gross water in her bedroom. And if I dump the bucket out down the drain in the bathroom, it will splash all over me, I might as well not have even bother collecting it in the first place. A real dilemma, I tell you.
As you perhaps have ascertained, it hasn't exactly been a thrilling week out here. But it has been a good one. It has been one where I have learned to depend a little more on God, to choose to be content even if I am not necessarily feeling inspired, and realizing that I make the choice to be happy; I make the choice to live fully and with purpose today. And these are good things to remember.
Rattana Manion a.k.a The Disney House. When I moved in, I asked if I could choose my apartment by the color. They said no. 
Thai-style toilet. Posing many logistical issues, as you can see. As far as I can tell, peeing on one's feet is unavoidable under these conditions. And yes, the bucket of water is used for rinsing.
The Karen New Year celebrations are bigger in the refugee camps than even across the border in Karen State, Burma. (Though please don't ask me about the cultural or historical background of Karen New Year - I don't know). I went to Mae La camp for the 
