I Always Fall in Love With an Open Door

Do you know what today is? Today is a day in Aix-en-Provence. It is 81 degrees F. It's partly cloudy. Mostly sunny. It's humid. It's a bit windy. I walk past the tattoo parlor and wave to the guys who work there. I walk past the Noodle Box and wave and the guys who work there. I walk past the Aix-Presso cafe and wave to the guys who work there. I whistle, which isn't something many girls do here. I get approached by people raising awareness for something and I fail at communicating in French.

I start to evaluate what I've done out of convienance and what I've done out of sheer desire and I see the vast divide between the great former and the ever shrinking latter. I sit in class and look at each person and realize that I know no one and their reality does not include much of what I consider reality.

I am haveing physical reactions to the thought of leaving. Heat in my chest and stomach, my very core. The backs of my knees tense. I tip my head way back.

I unlock an ancient door with two locks and say hello to a cat. I walk up 41 spiral steps. I turn on the air conditioner, drop my backpack and throw myself face down on my bed. I look at my knitting. My laundry basket. My polka dot dress hanging from a bar. I sink. I tell myself I'll do this and that. I do something else. I count days till home. Hours till dinner. Minutes till class. I'll go to bed at a decent hour tonight. I won't. I'll get a decent amount of work done today. I won't. I'll reserve my ticket for London. I've got a little more time yet.

I'll wash my feet. I can't.

These days feel like a little much, don't you think? All this lame duck-feeling air and breath. It's just a matter of time and it should hurt.