I would be, I should be; "I do not know what".

"I could have been a whistle, could have been a float. A real life giver, could have been boat. Simple as a kettle, steady as a rock."

This song is in my head, the nameless song from the Garden State soundtrack. My brain is empty today, really-- I know absolutely NOTHING today except for the fact that I am leaving in two weeks for bigger and better things. I have no idea what to expect and have no idea what might happen. I am certain that Europe was the right decision, albeit an impulse one, but the right one all the same. Lo and I were chatting the other day and while her quick witted banter had me in stitches, it also got me to thinking about life as we know it. In my brain, the French seem to pull out all the stops in their cliche-heavy worlds more often than not in terms of carelessness and emotional upheaval. With a simple sigh and a cigarette-clad wave of the hand, a muttered "Je ne sais quoi" is often the scapegoat for any and all of life's pressing issues at hand. Whether this ideology is true or not is up for interpretation by the reader. I on the other hand, have fully decided to adopt this Francophone mentality pre, post and during my travels abroad and hope to God it serves me well.

Here is a collection of photos. I love these photos and I love these people. These people I call my friends. There are an important handful of faces missing because they too are off in foreign lands in pursuit of their own happiness. Everything looks perfect from far away. I read something last night and it caught my eye and left a mark:

There were the earth and there were the planets.  The earth was not a planet.
The planets were the grabbers.  They were called this because they could sieze
hold of the earth and bend its destiny to thier will.  The earth was never of
thier kind.  The earth was the subject.  The earth was the grabbee.
....Until he found out about the shadow planets, Noman Sher Noman had never
understood how to think about love, how to give names to its effects of moral
illumination and tidal fluctuation and gravitaitonal pull.  The moment he heard
many things became clear.  Love and hate were planets too, noncorproreal but out
there, pulling at his heart and soul.

I don't know who wrote this other than the fact that Mave sent it to me many moons ago via email in the dimming divide of winter. I found it last night written on a scrap piece of paper and I slept fitfully because of it. Norman Sher Norman, je ne sais quoi.


Look on friendly soldiers.
Frances/Megan (same person).