I don't know where I'm going

I handed in my mission papers last Sunday. In just a couple long weeks, I'll know where I'll be serving for eighteen months.
The suspense KILLS.

If it were up to me, I'd pick the Alpine Mission. I so wish to stay in the German-speaking part of Europe. It's not up to me, though. I could be sent anywhere in the whole world.
And that terrifies me.
I love this part of the world so very very much. I can't stand to think of being separated from my beloved Germany for the next several years. I say several because I won't be able to afford coming back after my mission for a while. Plane tickets aren't exactly cheap, ya know. Maybe I'll end up going to school here one day.
To leave Germany. I've been dreading it since August, maybe even July, when I first came. I knew I'd have to leave in a year.

What if I'm sent to France? No offense, but I really dislike that language. I don't understand why everybody thinks it's so beautiful.
Or what if I'm sent somewhere super-sunny? I sunburn super easily, thanks to my North-European genes and my red hair and fair skin. I can get sunburned in March. I have the awesome capability of turning into a lobster even when using SPF 70. Well, it was a day at a water park... and missionaries are outside a lot... I don't want skin cancer. This week was *slightly* warm and sunny, and I managed to turn pink.
I'd rather not serve in the States. I really just want to stay in Europe. Forever. Just watch how long it'll take me to start scheming how to get back once I get off my mission. I'm thinking about three seconds. Well, maybe a little bit longer. I think I'll want to say hello to my family before I start scheming.