Emotional whiplash.

I owe so much to the friends who've indulged my moping and listened to my rants and fears over the past few days. I've been pretty low, and y'all helped bring me out of my funk. Thanks and love to each of you.

But, as the indomitable Miz K points out, the labor pains are forgotten once the newborn is in your arms.

Came home this evening to find a Peace Corps envelope in my mailbox. WTF, I thought -- they've rejected my appeal already?

Well, no, they didn't. Quite the opposite.

I'm cleared for medical. One more piece of unrelated paperwork to get signed and returned, but it's just a formality.

I'm kind of in shock.

Rushed over to the brother's house so I could tell someone in person -- have them read the letter to make sure it really said what I thought it said. And it did.

As Matt and Paige were congratulating me, Emma came in to see what the fuss was about. "That's great!" she told me. "This calls for gum!" (Aunt B is just a giant gum factory for her favorite 8-year-old.)

After the celebratory gum, Paige took me for a celebratory beer. Third Stone has never tasted so good. We read the letter again and again and traded ideas about where I might end up, and for the first time in ages someone even made eyes at me from the bar. (The bar at Brewsky's, but still...)

I still have to receive an invitation -- the when and where. Until that happens, I can't really believe this is really happening. But I'm 90 percent sure it is. You'll know when I know.