It hasn't seemed worth it for a while...
I have to walk over the suitcases in my room. I try to pack a few things a day. I try to stare at the suitcases themselves so the sight of them isn't shocking. In a week, I am leaving for France. All my family friends treat me like some kind of jetsetter-New York, New Orleans, Oregon, New Hampshire, Vermont. France. I'm not sure if I like to travel anymore. I'll let you know in a week. I won't have a phone in Paris, so maybe I'll write here again, so I don't get too lonely. There are so many things that I forget to think about, phone cards and bank fees and postage and entrance exames. Every once in a while I feel very excited. I don't hate packing, but I can't seem to get it done. I'm going to see a silly movie with my parents so that I don't have to think anymore tonight. I like very much the thought of being someone else. I like the thought of being foreign. I promise to write many letters.