Cats and a Truck named Myrtle

My neighbor with the cats and a truck named Myrtle is sunning himself on his front lawn--reading a book and sitting on a blanket.

My neighbor with the redheaded sons is manicuring her lawn.

The tenants in the house of the strange man whose bike has monkey handle bars are all moving away.

And I am listening to Cake in my small apartment with the blinds shut, and all my teaching boxes on the porch waiting to be moved into the garage.

I need to sweep and mop and vacuum and empty the dishwasher. I need to return my library books. I need to buy a tri-berry pie from Costco and corn on the cob. I need to do my laundry. I need to return the kitchen garbage to its place under the sink.

But what I really need.

What I really really really need.

Is to hear from the Peace Corps. An e-mail, a call, a letter in the mail. To know where I will be in 2 months. And to know if I truely need a job. Truely? Do I? And when will I be moving out of this small apartment where I listen to cake, and think about what the other 36 residents of my block are doing. I need to know.