Colombian Drug packages, Russian sorority girls, Toto, We're not in Kansas anymore
Cosmic where? Paris... My host-mom Emmanuelle has a refrigator magnet reading that, with an ornate silver dragon in the middle. I don't know the symbolism of the dragon; I admit. However, I know I love this city. I sent my best-friend in Chicago a sketchy-looking package for her birthday a month ago. Due to the lack of an appropriatedly-sized box, I wrapped my present in several layers of paper towels, an exterior layer of plastic-white disposable table-cloth material, finished off with that ubiquitious brown-packing tap so ingeniously created by 3M. I carried it around with me for a few days before I finally made it to La Poste to send. Everyone who saw it gave me that funny look that says, "And that is?..." My Colombian photo teacher said it made his heart warm, like it was a package from home. I suspect it was held up in customs, because instead of arriving in 10 to 14 days as promised, it took over a month for her to get it. Regardless of my curious-looking Colombian drug package, her email telling me she got it this morning surprised me. Here's what she wrote: "From the first month you were there, I've told people, "my god, I don't think she's ever coming back" and I mean that quite seriously. Not that you'll never live here again, but that from the moment that you left, you would somehow always be gone in a certain way. A piece of your heart and your soul and identity would owe itself to Paris. And I'm so happy for you." Beyond the fact that this woman has uniquely accurate insight into me as a person, she's also perceptive and intelligent as all get out. She's right about this. A part of me, of my identity, of my heart and soul, was born here, and will always have their roots here, just as the rolling hills of Nebraska will always beckon me home as well. The diddling sorority girl next to me in the computer lab (yes, my adventure here involves such sordid places as these) made me think about identity and experience and culture. She's 100% Tejana, pony-tailed, sneakers, and Prada bag in hand, with 100% Russian parents. She's spent the year in Paris travelling elsewhere. Life really is a cosmic journey. Every place I go, every person I met, dammit, every film I see and book I read, conglomerates as a part of me, but some are more so influential than others. I love this place. I also love home, Omaha, and I wouldn't be able to delight fully in any place had I not started the way I did there.
So, on a quotidian level, I'm having a great Everclear, Sparkle and Fade morning. I woke up late for my appointment for un test de dépistage des MTS. Yep, that time of year again. It's odd, animals give birth in the spring, I go get tested for STDs. I brushed my teeth and ran out the door, to a friggin' cold and foggy morning--the cold bottle of Coca light in my hand, my tee-shirt, and the breeze roaring past while riding my bike, dam. I just came home and am going to finish writing and do homework in the breast of warmth that is my boyfriend's room. This place is unusually hot, especially for a Parisian building, where the thermostat is notoriously non-existant, and therefore on wears a scarf not out of fashion, but simple heat-conservation. Not here, I get to figure out how to strip off another layer without being indecent. Oddly enough, you'll all be glad to know, the next time you are in Paris, STD testing is free and anonymous. I know a thing or two about anonymity, but this beats the band. I'm #207, results next Tuesday. Yeah, taking care of chores. Speaking of, I've gotta go do homework.
So, on a quotidian level, I'm having a great Everclear, Sparkle and Fade morning. I woke up late for my appointment for un test de dépistage des MTS. Yep, that time of year again. It's odd, animals give birth in the spring, I go get tested for STDs. I brushed my teeth and ran out the door, to a friggin' cold and foggy morning--the cold bottle of Coca light in my hand, my tee-shirt, and the breeze roaring past while riding my bike, dam. I just came home and am going to finish writing and do homework in the breast of warmth that is my boyfriend's room. This place is unusually hot, especially for a Parisian building, where the thermostat is notoriously non-existant, and therefore on wears a scarf not out of fashion, but simple heat-conservation. Not here, I get to figure out how to strip off another layer without being indecent. Oddly enough, you'll all be glad to know, the next time you are in Paris, STD testing is free and anonymous. I know a thing or two about anonymity, but this beats the band. I'm #207, results next Tuesday. Yeah, taking care of chores. Speaking of, I've gotta go do homework.