I was freakin' and I wrote this to help.

I'm leaving for Paris soon. I haven't been typing at all lately, but I've written in a similar state of mind at least twice in No History in the past few days, so I've resorted to this as an effort to spare my re-reading self too much redundancy. This doesn't mean that I believe in blogging again, though who knows where that belief went or what took it, it just means that I don't know how else to manage. Writing by hand isn't enough when one is this stressed.

I want so much to understand why I am stressed. I think it's that I'm sad, and I'm misinterpreting the pain and exhaustion of sadness as the more familiar pain and exhaustion of stress. Yes, I have concerns, but I have pretty much decided how to deal with them and part of that decision involved dealing with them when I get back from Paris. I have also decided on the actual dealings. Don't worry. Of course there are still unknowns, but the unknowns are out of my control and I know what the knowns are. I know the knowns better than anyone else. If they think that their knowns are more important than mine, well, they'll see that they have another thing coming. Yesindeedio.

I think “No, my plane leaves in 30 hours,” will be enough to convince them that they are stuck with my solution. And anyways, I have already paid a big security deposit on this room that I don't think I can gracefully get back. I suppose I can give them my French bank coordinates but how I'll ever get money out of BNP Paribas will remain a question for a long time. My final duty, hauling all of my cooking supplies and my fan across town, will be a matter of brute force or the subway, or both. Brute force I can handle, and the exercise will do me good.

I've read 22 books this summer. I've also ready most of a 23rd, which I'm trying to slog my way through the last 30 pages of. Nikola Tesla's “My Inventions” essays were really good, but his ideas for how to increase human energy through a grand metaphor of Newton's Second Law are pretty much unreadable. I hate metaphysics, but he's creating life as a sort of sub-physics. That is even worse. Also, he is very naïve about how awesome it would be to live in a world where patriotism and religion are one and the same and there is only one government. Under normal circumstances I would stop but because I've started this list I don't want to put half-finished books on it. The list... is to make me feel like I've accomplished something this summer.

It works, but it's also pretty pathetic.

Finally 9 pm. My train leaves at 10:30. I'm nervous, but once I'm on the train I'll feel good, I know. Once I'm free. I can't wait to be home. Denver and the family reunion will give me a chance too look over last year's physics. I'm not set on relearning it yet, just re-familiarizing myself with it. Just so I hopefully won't be a total asshole when I'm back at school. “Back at school” is like heaven to my mind. Friends, purpose, fun, stimulus. The freedom of commitment. I had that here too, but it became an excuse not to deal with my emotions. I'm stuck in France doing work that kills my soul, so of course I'm sad and there's nothing I can do about it.

My boyfriend. I hate the word, but I'm glad I can use it. His friend asked me if I was his “significant other” which is a nicer term but also kind of lame. I'm so glad that happened. That was the best part of this summer. Even though we had that rough patch, even though we weren't that good of a match, we still... had some togetherness and I wasn't alone when I needed someone and that means so much to me. I think he has an inkling of what it was but he doesn't completely understand. That's fine. I think that's right. We struggled with the language barrier to the end, and the communication barrier that it masked as well. I think we might keep in touch, at least a little bit. God, his smell was what did it. His smell broke me down the last few days. I'd bury my head in his blanket and try to hide the tears. The last time we had sex was definitely the best. I felt his body shudder and his deep lips settle into mine and I felt so close to him.

It's silly that I didn't try to find a girlfriend, since the whole summer I'd been disgusted by men. Toulouse men are assholes. French girls are hot. But my boyfriend was also hot and rarely an asshole and he knew so many things about politics and science and sports and sometimes I wondered if he read the newspaper cover to cover ever day. Oh, and he liked Calvin and Hobbes. He had them framed on his wall, he had books on his shelves he had links that despaired at the intricacies of arithmetic. Calvin and Hobbes are perfect for him. Innocent and wise, just like him.

Maybe when I see all of the Reedies I miss so much he'll seem strange and alien, like he did at the beginning. I was so surprised by his hangups, and his mores. I think they'll seem a little messy after him. His gray sweater with the zipper on the shoulder.