Heather in California tells me that postage for the international flat-rate boxes went up again.
While I find this intensely tragic, I must admit that now that Trevor and I live in the land of plenty, I no longer feel the need to beg shamelessly for people to send us essentials of modern life. If we didn't get another package, we would survive. OK, I would really miss reading those Oprah magazines and eating myself sick on Twizzlers, but we would be just ok.
Maybe I'm just feeling extra good this afternoon because I spent the whole day in a session on peer counselling with the Peace Corps psychologist. We practiced a lot of "I" statements. I had a little trouble concentrating, only because the psychologist looks exactly like Emmylou Harris (with a British accent).