Posted June 27th, 2003 by Michelle

It is nearing 3 AM and a car will be here at 7 to ferry me to the airport. Am I packed? No. Do I have laundry downstairs? Yes. So what am I doing? Writing to the cyber-world like there will be no tomorrow.

This week has been strange and long. My French class is pretty great. My teacher is already not speaking in English, although it is a beginner’s course, and I seem to be the only one who understands anything. And I only catch about a fifth of what she’s saying. Work is terrible, because it is restaurant week, which means that all of the people who ordinarily might not be able to afford to attend a hoity-toity restaurant now can, since we are offering lunch for 20.03 and dinner for 30.03. However, those people are not just only paying twenty bucks for what would normally cost a hundred, they are also thanking us by leaving ten percent. I cannot bear another moment of it. I should have picked up a shift tonight rather than playing pool in the Village, but I could not bring myself to work twice as hard for half the money. It’s a little birthday present to me.

I’m off to California, where I hope to once again figure out a thing or two about my life, where I will sleep ten hours a night, where I will dive into the sweetest swimming pool imaginable. My dad called me today to sing, “It’s a hundred and one degrees!” and then four minutes later, “Hundred and two- wait- three- four!!!!” But dry. No humidity. And, you know, air conditioning, unlike me here in the dark ages in Brooklyn. I’ve actually made an appointment to rent an AC unit, which means that in the next week I need to come up with $250, cash only. It is imperative to happiness, however.

I suppose I ought to pack.