JOURNAL: I'VE GOT THE PROLETARIAT WRAPPED AROUND A MANICURED FRENCH GARDEN

Even when faced with a Wednesday––ask any current or former au pair about Wednesdays––I was feeling particularly peppy this morning. I danced with the mop to my Bryan Ferry 'Jazz Age' album, let music shuffle all over the map. Some songs, albums, and artists are linked to particular times or people or places. Beirut came up, I was obsessed with this band the summer I turned 20. Then, like now, I was cleaning––I only kept that job for a month cleaning a quiet portion of the giant library on campus. I was in the back where the classrooms are, which meant projectors, which meant putting on TV shows while wiping down auditorium seating. It's how I watched that episode of The Office where Pam walks across coals. My coworker would put on some anime show, I'd join her asking her lots of questions but was never quite able to follow along. It was good to remember a job where everyone loved me. I made them waffles for my last day of work party and tried to get them all to recite poetry for me.

I don't think I tell you enough how precious this time has been to me. Sure sometimes I wish I could have a debriefing session with my documentary friends ("You did what?!" "I know! I betrayed the proletariat!") but I wouldn't trade all my lost rambles around winding, narrow streets or any crêpe or any morning doodling monsters in my notebook during French class. Not even one ™£¢∞§ load of laundry would I trade.

Anyway, if you ever visit Paris, especially in the spring, you should take an evening to relax in Parc Monceau. There are perfect, full leafy trees; dark, velvet trees; greek-ish statues; and plenty of people to watch––but not, I promise you, too crowded. Nor will anyone try to force a bracelet on you, sell you a mini Eiffel tower for a euro, and so far no one has tried to hook up with me or follow me home. 

I live here for a week and a half more. Then there's a month and a half of never being in one place for more than two weeks, stopping through five countries, and then I will actually be moved to Seattle, with a temp agency holding my hand, a floor to sleep on, a best friend down the hall plus another new cool person, and many more notebooks and journals to fill.

I'm dying to see my my parents again, to hug them tightly. To see my sister and brother-in-law. To cuddle my nephew to infinity and to meet another pretty little girl who won't claim me as her real aunt but I'll love her just the same.

If you happen to play the accordion, though, will you visit me? I'll tell you what it's like to sit on a stool playing La Vie en Rose while I stand across from you on our imaginary bridge. I'll look out over the Seine, surrounded by tourists taking photos of each other and I'll tell you what it's like to feel like you're exactly where you ought to be in that exact moment, feeling the soft air, carving your surroundings into your heart so they won't ever go away.

Life is very, very full.