Pouring, pouring, POURING rain today. I'm wearing a skirt that just goes past my knees and three inches of it were wring-worthy wet by the time I walked the 10 minutes from the subway to the office. Tomorrow I'm going to a little town on the western coast called Boryong for their annual mud festival. There's certainly gonna be a lot of mud.
 
Had a fit of decisiveness (if I could just capture the hormones or whatever that causes me to be decisive in these weird spurts and pill-ify it, I'd be so happy) yesterday and decided, okay, enough be enough, I'm going to quit on July 30, go to Japan on the 31st, return on the 10th, and leave Korea on the 17th. No going to [         ], no going to Mongolia. Vpppt.
 
So, depending on ticket availability (a big factor, actually, since August is high season for everything), I'm all set. I'm steeling myself against the inevitable moments of doubt and regret about not going to see KB. The funny thing, as I noted in my private journal last night, is that if things had been just a little less extreme, I'd have been swayed into going. If [       ] were not quite as far from Korea as it is. If the ticket were just a few hundred dollars less. If KB had a slightly less -- well, you don't need to know that. It made me laugh, though, last night. And in laughing, I knew I'd be all right.