I’ve been dreading writing this last entry. The second I do, my foray in French life will cease to exist, and I will just be that girl that once studied abroad and did really awesome, adventurous, cool, amazing, once-in-a-lifetime things that other, less awesome, cool, amazing people live vicariously through.
[Insert HUGE sigh]
Its over. It feels almost sacrilege to write this, as I haven’t really finished mourning.
It reminds me of the year my dog Annie died. She was the most loyal, kind-hearted, mellow pet a girl could ask for. My mom called me my freshman year at OU and dutifully announced that Annie had to be put to sleep.
It took me a year to visit her little grave, marked with a cross composed of hob knob twigs from our backyard.
I haven’t visited France’s “grave” yet, and I can’t bring myself to.
Instead, I will write blog entries on my lunch break and try to believe that New York could ever be as “glamorous” as my wonderful Aix.
Fat French chance.
