Almost out of room in this old journal. The notebook where I write my book quotes is almost out of room, too. I've been thinking about how I want to end this journal -- which Sara gave me 12.5 years ago, which traveled with me to France and Belgium and England, which moved with me from Mom's house to C--- Street to L--- Street to P--- P--- to S ( Read more... )

I should be asleep, but I've been up flipping through my old high school yearbooks. I've been doing that a lot lately. Don't know why. I haven't kept in touch with the friends I had in high school, and with a very few exceptions, I do not like running into anyone I went to high school with. If I see an old face from my graduating class, I'll ( Read more... )

How did I get here? That's something I used to wonder all the time. Sometimes I thought I knew. I thought it was because Mom never wanted me. Maybe that's it, but it really doesn't matter. What really matters is: How do I get from here to the place where I want to be? That question used to bother me all the time. But in recent years, I've either ( Read more... )

I'm hoping that if I write things down, I'll be able to stop crying. I've still got about an hour and a half till boarding time for my plane to Houston, and I don't have anything to do. I brought a book to read (Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier), but I finished it on the plane from Paris. Now I'm left alone with my thoughts, which is bad. Don't want ( Read more... )

The steward just came by and gave me a cup of orange juice and a little bag of pretzels. I heard him call it a "rehydration." We're somewhere over the Atlantic now, en route from Paris to Philadelphia. From there, I catch another plane to Houston. If I remember correctly, there's a Chik-A-Fil in the Philadelphia airport. I'm going to try to eat ( Read more... )

Sara just looked up and said, "I just spent a whole paragraph describing the pastry I ate yesterday." Then (in case I didn't believe her), she read me the paragraph. Typical Sara. We're lying here on our beds in our hotel room in Paris. Our hotel room is so nice. It's on the sixth floor (of course they call it the fifth floor here), and it has this ( Read more... )

I'm sitting here at the desk in my little room again. Sara and I just got back from walking to the mediatheque, like we do every Wednesday. I checked out two American movies, The Misfits and ET (to show to my video club) and two books, Lucy est amoureuse and La Louisiane: De la colonie francaise a l'etat americain. Nathalie will be taking us ( Read more... )

I can't sleep. Maybe it's because I'm depressed that my time in France is almost over. Maybe it's because of my damn right hand and all the pain it's still giving me ( Read more... )

I'm writing this in my little classroom, Salle 106. I don't have a class right now (obviously), so it's nice and quiet and empty. Well, not entirely quiet, since Marie-France is doing a class right next door, and I can hear her loud voice through the wall. I don't hate Mondays because they're the start of another week. I hate them because they're ( Read more... )

I'm sitting on a couch here in the teacher's room. I don't know why I decided to bring my journal and write in it up here. I'm sure the other teachers are wondering what I'm doing. But I'm always too self-conscious around the teachers. There are only three others around right now anyway, Carol Yven and (I think) the two German professors. I had to ( Read more... )