.vaille que vaille. : The Final Countdown

Seven. That's right, a number so low that I can finger count them. A week until I leave for Paris! Please tell me that I am not dreaming. My class schedule is all in order (which, by the way, has got me shaking in my new, rather adorable lace-up boots), with a French language course, 3 French workshops, and a Contemporary Art class taught in English to relieve my mind from francophone overdrive. I'm scared, nervous, excited, scared again, anxious, restless, crazy, crazy, crazy. I feel like I'm about to have a baby. Excuse the crude comparison. But okay, I feel like how I imagine the pregnancy-baby-having-process to feel like. No, not physically. Mentally. For months on end I've psyched myself up for this trip (as a mother would during her 9 months), preparing for any foreign language or cultural foibles, hyped by idealistic perspective, and thrilled, above all, for the big day to come. But as it draws near, just the thought of such a responsibility makes me want that baby to stay put. Because once it emerges, it embodies the realization of all my fears, all my preparations, all my hopes and dreams. Which could in an instant (granted, perhaps a drawn-out instant) break my poor anticipatory heart. Change makes me feel so young. No matter how many living days I measure, I am an infinite well of naivité.

The end of summer is already here. For most, it had already passed. I must not have been paying attention. It feels like an eternity ago that I moved into my apartment. Another couple eons ago I moved out. Now it has come to this: the end of an eventful & disjointed summer -- riddled with old friends and new loves and perfect memories. I have been trying to formulate an unprecedented conclusion, but there's really no decent way to say good-bye. I'd rather just up & go. But I've been trying to keep myself busy.

California, I will miss your sunny days and lukewarm nights. Because my friends are scattered throughout the golden state and some even extend to exterior states, it's interesting to hear the prideful undertones laced throughout conversations about each person's individual collegiate region. I found that this does not exist for me. Up until recently, Los Angeles was simply a city of trash, pollution, traffic, and a symbol of America's excess. But now I think that LA has a lot more to offer than tacky graffiti-ed brick walls and grey concrete. I will admit that I have grown fond of the fast-paced, ball-breaking lifestyle that exemplifies the average Los Angelesian. Solely because it makes the quiet, relaxed, lovely discoveries all the more wonderful.