Brown Blues.

Allons-y.

I'm leaving for Paris in 12 hours. I think I've been back in France for less than 100. But when I was taking my lovely commuter train ride from De Gaulle on Monday afternoon, the leaves were falling off the trees, and I'm afraid to wait too long. It's been a good month or so since I've been inside the Pompidou. And the river there is nicer.

Rome was a little much, but it was nice to feel that again. It's ridiculous to compare it to anything, but I guess we all know what I'm comparing it to. It's cleaner. Assisi was absolutely incredible. We wandered down this street and found a guy and his gallery. He told Jenn in Italian that I understood but couldn't respond to that his work now was characterized by Christ Living. I bought a really nice white and purple angel. Venice is exactly what you expect. It's very pretty, under all the tourists. We went two separate days, once with Jenn's parents, and again so that I could get a Christmas present for my parents. Bologna leans. And we went to this church that was originally supposed to be 7 churches inside one and my ears started ringing. Ferrara is bricks. Bicycles. A huge apartment and homemade lasagna and only a little cloudy. I had never been to Italy. Louder, maybe. Harder to navigate. When you say grazie, they look at you nicely. As opposed to s'il vous plait, which immediately gets you foreigner status. The French aren't that polite. It was very nice to be outside this hexagon for a little while, but I feel a lot better now about being back in it. I guess that's what it takes.

I had my first test on Tuesday morning. 45 minutes to translate a detailed text about squirrels playing a game of tag from English into French. I mean, spiraling and jolting up the corrugated bole of a Canadian poplar. At this rate, I might be in college a little longer than expected.

And I might end up working at a high school here, preparing kids for the English sections of their Baccalaureat. I have to set up a meeting with the headmaster and draft a resume in French before next Wednesday. We'll see. I don't know if I even have time, with all of this sitting around I do.

I go home in 6 weeks. To eat veggie burgers and thai food, to drink coffee and soy chai, to possibly go camping for two days in West Texas, and to get on a plane and come back. It's frustrating, you know, but I don't think I even know how to live in America anymore. Ugh, that was so asshole-y. Desolée.

A plus, donc. Je vous aime.