Midori, sans liqueur.

• Arrive in Paris.
• Get to apartment
• Meet owners, landlords, etc etc.
• Full tour
• Begin to unpack
• Step on something sharp, swear, pull out a splinter from the wooden floor from my tights. Scream when I see there’s a centimeter long piece stuck under/in my flesh. Curse at the hole in my new tights. Find tweezers from still-packed suitcase, spend 30 minutes swearing and trying to dig out enough flesh to get the splinter-meets-shank out. Succeed, attempt to wash wound, bandaid, finish unpacking. Resolve to go to Chinatown ASAP to find slippers.
• Realize I don’t have enough hangars, nor a pair of scissors, nor food. Decide to head to a local Carrefour, having only ever heard that “it’s a supermarket”
• Realize when I walk in that it is basically an IKEA filled with a hardware store, a CVS, a costco, a butcher, a baker, a seafood shack, a flower shop, a bank, a key duplicator, a shoe shiner. It has everything you could ever want under one roof… Now if only you could survive trying to find it.
• Get to check out line, realize that everyone has a cart or reusable bag except me. Pay for items but have nothing to put them in, have an extremely nice lady find me reusable bags on sale in the store so I can buy them and put what I bought in them to take home. Embarrassing to say the least.
• Now home, super super super tired, but it’s only 6pm and I need to push on til at least 9 or 10…
• I will post apt pictures soon.

Option A: Get a music industry job, work for six months in SF or NY (Not doing LA), then have a summer vacation for 2 months for the first (possibly last) time in 4 years.

Option B: Take care of some motorcycle stuff for 3 months in Paris, earn some dough, THEN move to a music-related job somewhere in the states for 4 months and forgo summer vacation.

One is more hectic but will honestly bring me lots of joy to accomplish, the other might give me a much needed replenishing break for a bit… Leaning towards B.

Growing up in super cities, I’ve grown up with the constant hum-drum of life in the city; The cars, the metro, the people, the machines, the perpetual movement that is New York City and Tokyo filling every second with some kind of noise. Often, if I’m in a place that’s too empty, too absent of that noise, I get really uneasy.

But when I moved to my apartment in Boston I was amazed by the quiet, and despite my love for the ever-present sound of a city awake 24/7, I was happy to accept that quiet. Even when I lived in rural Malawi, I never had such amazing stillness (I lived next to the local Bottlestore, or bar, go figure). While we were in St. Maarten this week, I had the best kind of occasional silence to fall asleep to - The sound of waves crashing on the beach, and every so often a jet roaring overhead. A week of that, and sitting in the airport terminal - one of the most relaxing places to me usually - is suddenly jarring and loud with too many people and too many options. I’m happy to be going back to a city, but admittedly glad it’ll be quiet Boston and not New York…

I just don’t feel like I’m ready for this trip tomorrow. 

Part of it is having enjoyed Boston too much this weekend: from banquet to the Red Sox to (some) abnormally nice N.E. weather (oh, and some excellent food), I got to have a taste of the best.

Seeing all the sisters at banquet, seeing my big and psis, getting to introduce Ben to everyone, seeing [A.] and meeting her parents, running into folks on campus… knowing there are so many others I didn’t get to spend time with this time around… It makes it hard for even a girl obsessed with work to just up and go. I’m so excited for this upcoming trip, truly, and I’m sure this tune will change tomorrow as soon as I’m rested and headed out to the airport, but what a great weekend :3

“Well I love that dirty water: Oh Boston, you’re my (3rd adoptive but still awesome) home.”