July 26th, 2010

the cicadas are burning

in the shivering sweat
humidified
(the rains ate all the world)

they are screaming
(There was nothing left but them)

==
It is oppressively hot; it’s almost like the sun has changed its mind about its benevolence and is instead maniacally attempting to fry us humans off the face of the planet, or at least off the face of the concrete here in Asheville. The humidity has got to be somewhere around ninety, and a cunning combination of window-shutting, shutting doors, and turning on fans barely keeps the apartment tolerable, if by tolerable you don’t include a propensity for sweat-gland overload if you move anywhere (but it remains cooler by the window, sort of).

As for me, I’m sitting here, by the window, surprisingly, eating a lightly toasted plain bagel covered in fresh black bean hummus (open faced, of course), and listening to playlist on iTunes labeled “summer 2010” and is no way, whatsoever, autobiographical. I will not, for various reasons, talk about what songs are on there (not like it would matter, seeing as it is not, most emphatically, autobiographical).

The internet is gone again; either the phone company providing our lovely neighbors with their router are swindlers, incompetent, or the neighbors actively repel technology, but either way I have already sent a text (three hours ago) asking for it to be reset and received no response, confirming my suspicion that no one is home, and thus it could be a very long time until the internet returns, a source of no end of frustration and continued boredom on my part. (Holy cow, run on sentences. Dear reader, I apologize). I just finished reading Jitterbug Perfume, by Tom Robbins and was quite delighted by it, but I believe that may the extent of brain power I have available for the moment, due to a weekend packed with late nights, a remarkably messed up sleep schedule, and at least a gallon of coffee (I may be exaggerating slightly on that last, but not by much). I don’t feel really qualified to complain too much about my situation because it was all self-imposed, but nevertheless, since I can, I will probably do so anyway.

Bele Chere, meaning “Beautiful Living” in some old Scottish tongue (according to the brochures, that is), is nothing more or less than one giant energy suck (that was unkind – replace that with “street fair”) that takes Asheville by storm the last full weekend of July. In the case you are unaware, that would be this weekend, the one that just finished, or that will finish at roughly midnight tonight. Streets close, parking becomes a rare jewel, and thousands of people swarm the streets carrying the beer sold rather cheaply to anyone wearing a wristband, proving they were born after July 23rd, 1989 (which, unfortunately, does not include yours truly). Artists sit in tents and attempt to sell their wares to the sweating tourists, and children clutch funnel cakes and snow cones. Mr. Bojangles – or rather his restaurant - sells 32 oz sweet teas for $2 apiece, and Greek pitas and spanakopita abound. At all hours, at one of three stages, there are bands playing for their souls, and when the sun sets you can find oppressively large crowds gathered, all bobbing to the same beat, a phenomenon that I still find to be one of the most beautiful in the world.

Although at least fifteen – more like twenty – bands played during the weekend, I was only attendance at two, both at the Battery Park Stage, where multicolored lights spin across the stage and people hang over the edges of the parking deck and wave at the performers. On Friday night, it was “Yo Big Fat Momma’s Booty Band”, a jazzy rock kind of sound, and on Saturday, it was “Toubab Krewe”, a kind of African rock mix, or at least that’s what Mountain Xpress said; I just thought it was good music. I can’t describe music well. (I didn’t need to say that; you already knew). On both nights, I was by myself for the beginning and by the end had been joined by a certain friend named Raj and an old pal of his. Here is where I’ll have to split apart the nights, although they followed remarkably parallel paths – progressing from music to food to dancing – the places and times differ slightly (Though I suppose you hardly need all the details).

What the hell; on Friday we went to the Hookah Bar and then went dancing at Bobo’s Gallery, attracting a small crowd and earning adoration for our moves: on Saturday we just got organic nachos (yes, you can raise your eyebrows), a large cup of coffee (needed for a certain member of the group who had received a grand total of four hours of sleep the night previously due to a pressing need to be at work the following morning), and then went to Club 828. The Friend (for lack of a better term currently), who knows everyone in Asheville or so it seems, knew the DJ and thus we found ourselves on the stage, cutting several rugs, while the Friend made at least half the club fall in love with him, leaving me to be the gracious sidekick and swallow my pride (in showboating, the Friend is absolutely unmatched). Soaked in sweat while the prospect of yet another early morning called, I left the Friend to party on and returned home to sleep in the restless heat, waiting for the alarm to go off. Remarkably, the common theme of the weekend seemed to be dance; whether it be grooving in a large crowd of people, salsa-ing in the coffee shop, or in the club/bar.

(“We can dance until we die, you and I, we’ll stay young forever…”)

There is a reason coffee was invented, and I’m sure it has something to do with conquering the universe; I made it through both days (including today, which involved a meeting organized, I’m positive, for the sole purpose of repeating things we’ve been told previously and attempt something called discourse, stifled by everyone’s determination to go home), though it would not have been possible without a great amount of artificial energy coursing through my veins at all times. Upon arriving back at the apartment on Saturday afternoon, I slept for three full hours, and today, two, then decided that in order to continue to pay my respects to the night, I would drag myself from the bed. I have accomplished in getting a crick in my neck, but am still awake, so I consider this all a success.

I have spent the afternoon waiting hopelessly for the return of the internet, complaining about life, and staring at the walls. My services are currently be required as a hairdresser, seeing as my sister is dead set and determined to dye her hair, and who am I to deny her these pleasures. The week has been a melée of activity; I received my placement for my homestay and have yet to get about composing an e-mail in French to introduce myself. I also discovered that, in addition to rent coming up and a ravaged checking account thanks to a plane ticket to Denver, I have to afford a non-refundable housing deposit to the tune of 720 euros (900 dollars) by August 8th, which should be a bundle of roses and if I have five dollars to my name by the time it’s over, I will consider myself lucky.

Besides the usual wrestling with the unfortunate human invention known as money, I have been on the wavering edge of a meltdown, and while I would much prefer to not go into details for the privacy of the victims, I think it has very much to do with the impending act of starting all over again – again, for the second time in about three months, which rather gets in the way of things. I have the ability to, when I know there is nowhere else I should be, sink my roots into the places I am, make friends, meet people, generally get accustomed to the things around me. And I also tend to get remarkably stressed when I can’t place my head in the next place I will be – for example, in a foreign country in which I have never set foot. And on top of all that, leaving this time is a little different because of a slightly distressing/awesome reason. I expect it will be resolved one way or the other after the 800 pound gorilla in the room is addressed, and no, I don’t care to elaborate.

The other day, by the way, I was told by the universe, by way of a voice in my head that was rather sure of itself (I would prefer it if you did not stop reading here to call the insane asylum), that I am going to Paris to get lost.

I will leave you to meditate on that, and if you figure out what it means, please e-mail me or leave a comment. Also, if you want updates on when I post, which is erratically, I suggest you become a follower.

Until next time.

July 19th, 2010

...

Seriously, though, I don't know where to start. Well, because I'm sure you want to know: the consulate did not laugh at me when I presented my documents, in fact, they seemed to have everything they needed, just with one problem -- I didn't have a certified envelope from the post office, which is apparently what they meant when they said "self-addressed pre-paid envelope." So they hemmed and hawed a bit, but I left the envelope I had with them and said I would try to make it back before they closed -- at 1:30pm -- with the certified envelope.

(Wow, I'm getting ahead of myself. It is so amazing how much STUFF you can fit in a weekend).

Well, Raj and I then boogied out to the car and promptly got lost -- we found the post office, all right, but there was apparently no possible way to get in the parking lot, and so we made a couple of harrowing turnarounds and some rather dangerous maneuvers, only to try and turn into the parking lot again and end up on the highway. All things added up to no post office or certified envelope before 1:30. So they HAVE the other envelope -- I've tried several times to call them, but will keep doing so just to make sure they will actually send the passport back to me.

Yes, so Atlanta is confusing. It's a beautiful city; I swear when we plundered along the highway and swung around a turn to see the downtown, with its skycrapers and lights, my heart just opened. Asheville is beautiful, but there are no real tall buildings except for the BB&T tower or whatever it's called, and at night the sky isn't alight with window stars like in the big city, and I guess I didn't realize how much I missed NYC until I saw another big city. I suppose if I knew the city better it wouldn't be such a problem, but I swear over the weekend we needed to make at least five U-turns, and completed about four complete circles.

Also, it is HUMID. The air just hangs over you like a net, and more often than not walking outside is like asking for a sweat bath (lovely). The food is fried and people spend their days -- weekends, at least -- chilling out during the day, drinking beer and eating, then moving out for the night to the bars. Yes, I am generalizing and stereotyping. But there is a certain lifestyle.

I guess I should tell you what we did before I start whining about it, but you should know that it was an amazing and fantastic weekend. What I wanted to say was that as great as it was, it just taught me that without a LOT of getting used to, I don't think I could live in the South. It's probably just that I'm not used to it in any way shape or form, but being here -- and especially in Atlanta, which is much more patently southern than Asheville so far as I can tell -- has reminded me that I really am a yankee at heart. I need my coffee shops and the rhythm of life to click along; Denver and New York City are separate planets but in my mind they're both much more like home. I do miss Denver, though I wonder how much of that is just nostalgia -- but I miss the wide open blue sky and the sunshine, the dryness, and the way the mountains explode from the horizon when you land at Denver International Airport. And of course, New York City. As you know, I've been in love with that place for awhile now (not so long as you might guess, perhaps a year and a half).

Again, I don't know where to begin. Do I need to tell you that Enterprise had a problem with the fact neither of us had insurance or credit cards and refused to rent us a car, so we spent at least an hour and half panicked hours on the phone until Raj's dad decided to be wonderful and lend us his for the weekend? (You saved our butts, Raj's dad, THANK YOU!!!). That it was dark on the way down and I drove most of the way, while Raj played the ukulele and read John Steinbeck's Tortilla Flat out loud (clearly, not at the same time)? Or that we got lost at least three times on the way home and stopped for barbeque in Waynesville, drank coffee that tasted like water and Cheerwine, while I was educated in the arts of the different barbeque sauces? Oh but I have to tell you how on Saturday night in the bar Raj and I hung out in the Elvis shrine, made in an old bank vault, and talked until the show went on.

Well, the details are the best, I suppose. I'd be happy to write down hour by hour what we did after the stress of Friday morning was easing off my back, like how went to the pool and sat drinking budweiser and singing along with Raj and his ukulele, and then later danced the night away at a gay bar, while people kept bringing me drinks and at 1:17am, I stopped being a teenager, then spun home and crashed on a twin size air mattress. Saturday night we went to a bar and saw a friend of Raj's friend (and his, of course) play a show, then went back to the neighbor's place, danced, and drank until 4:30 or so.

We stayed with one of Raj's friends, in a giant warehouse like loft, with one skylight and no windows, high ceiling and open air, looking very much like the sort of place you'd find crazy artists. Very nice -- but the lack of windows was slightly off putting for me, the person who rearranged their entire dorm room so that the bed could be by the window.

So now I'm back in Asheville, for the short time that remains, attempting to be as present as possible. Hilary and I had my little birthday celebration last night, a day late. It wasn't a big deal, just some cake and a few cards, a nice quietly wonderful night to complement the craziness of the weekend.

Until next time.

July 15h, 2010

T Minus 1 day.

I would like to tell you that I'm perfectly calm, and I'd be halfway truthful (whatever the hell that means).

I slept in this morning, making it a good eleven hours of sleep last night or something ridiculous. I did the dishes, showered, and once more, got on the consulate website and once more, checked the requirements for a student long stay visa against the documents I have prepared. I walked to the copy shop in the Grove Arcade -- walked, not biked, seeing as I can hardly move after a lot of biking and a ballet class last night -- and got the remaining copies made, then spent a bit of time at Malaprops, chilling out and reading "Heroes of the Valley" by Jonathan Stroud, who in addition to being a great writer, also writes some damn good stories. They are young adult books but I promise you will like them. So there.

In any case, since then I've just been home, packing, reading, and in a bit I'll go roll around on a tennis ball in an attempt to unknot the disaster that is my back. I'm at last somewhat confident that I have everything required for the consulate; the next step is to get there, on time and ready to go, and end up with the visa. I just want it to be over by this point; though I am, I admit, still a little stressed. Less so than before (progress!!).

Oh, and by the way, Raj can come with me. So while we're at it, we're going to stay in Atlanta and chill until Sunday. Celebrate my birthday on Saturday in grand fashion, as grand as can be considering I'm only turning 20. So that should be fun. After Friday I'm just along for the ride.

It hit me a few days ago when I pulled out my cell phone calendar and counted, that I'm only in Asheville for six more weeks. Only six -- and I've been here about seven and a half. The thought is exciting -- but scary -- and a little saddening. I've become amazingly settled here -- I do have a way of doing that with places, especially if I know that there's no real other option to be anywhere except exactly where I am, and that was the case with Asheville. Having no other option, I just sit down and sink in my roots, and I always find it hard to yank them back out. It's just that it seems like all I can remember is here, and seven weeks is such an impossibly short time, but I've already done so much, lived so many moments. I've made friends, found a guy, and though we're hardly around at the same time, learned again to live with my sister. We've always been best friends, but we do have to get used to being in the same space, and now that we are, it will be so STRANGE to not be. It's just comforting to know she's around, and I know she feels the same way. But we'll just have to get used to it how it is, move our separate directions and live. We've always been good at that.

In any case, it is a little startling, even though it means that life is, as it always does, moving on. Now is only right now and forever means very little -- if there is one truth about life, it is that it's never (ever) static. Although it always seems like where you are is where you have always been, because each moment, each day, for heaven's sake, could be it's own lifetime, but they all add up in little increments and moments and consecutive nows to bring us to this exact second of being. And so always we grow, change, and learn. It's how it should be.

I have often wondered how much of life people miss, caught in the throes of guilt or what if or living in the past or the future, and I have to ask, yet again -- you'll get tired of hearing this question -- if anyone has ever truly lived?

In the mean time it's been a great week -- lots of baseball (including TWO walk off wins by the Tourists) -- and I've somehow managed to meet all sorts of interesting people, which is always fantastic. Also, why does it seem like half the people I meet here are from New York or have lived there at some point? Quite bizarre.

In any case, we should be heading out here pretty soon, so I'm going to sign off. I'll update you soon. :)

July 10th, 2010

Of course, some days you have to get through with some help, such as (several) healthy doses of ibuprofen and a cup of dark coffee with some hazelnut creamers. Some of the fault is my own, some of it is just organic chemistry that I have no control over. The coffee takes care of the former, the ibuprofen the latter.

So I decided to just screw worrying about sleeping--I get off at one, after all, so after I got off the second job of the day, I pedaled over to west Asheville in the dusk, foggy from the rain, the air sticking to my skin and water flecking my calves. The fog slowly burned off as the evening wore on, and I spent it on the porch with Raj and his brother, drinking dos equis while some determined cicada shouted in a nearby tree. It was pretty late by the time we finally wandered inside and headed for bed, and I wasn't asleep for at least another hour, up thinking about various things -- mainly Atlanta.

I discovered that Raj may not be able to get off work on Friday, thus not being able to drive down with me, thus resulting in me, driving down to Atlanta by myself. The thought is pretty terrifying, but it is out of my hands. What am I going to do, force him to come down with me? Hardly. I must live with faith that if he can't get off work, then the universe needs me to go by myself, or with my sister if she can get off. Either way, I'll figure it out. I'd just -- obviously -- like to not have to.

However, yesterday a number of things fell into place, not the least of which was my award letter from Columbia financial aid. I don't want to go into specifics, for a variety of reasons, but basically without a HUGE boost from Columbia, there would be no way that I'd be able to pay for my year abroad. My parents can't help me financially whatsoever, and I'm lucky to be able to save a couple thousand by the end of the summer. However, thanks to my aid advisor and the team over there, I am incredibly relieved and delighted to announce that I WILL be able to pay for at least most of the year. It was a huge, huge load off my shoulders and the shoulders of my parents, and has eased my mind considerably. I will probably have to take out a small student loan at some point, but for the moment things are looking pretty good.

Anyway, with all of that running around in my head, I got roughly four and a half hours of sleep, and then was awakened for a predawn ride up the Clingman hill to work. It was long before the heat, and actually fairly cool (until I started climbing of course), and I would probably have appreciated it much more if not for the waves of intense pain in my abdomen. Such is life. In any case, we were busy at work, and with twelve ounces of said dark roast with hazelnut creamers, I could have conquered the world (at least, as soon as the ibus kicked in).

Upon (finally) getting off, I hopped on the bike and came home and promptly crawled back into bed and slept for two solid hours. I woke up to a stunningly sunny Saturday afternoon, not really too hot for a change. Hilary is out at the Tourists, so I'm by myself for the evening, but equipped with a new book, courtesy of Hilary, and a computer with internet (did I mention it's fixed?!?!?!) and a subscription to MLB.TV, I think I'll be okay. I never like being alone for too long in the apartment, but there you have it. Maybe I'll take a little walk or something, just to get outside into the gorgeous sunshine.

So at the end of all of that, it's been a strangely wonderful day, despite everything, though I suppose I should say including everything. It's a week till my birthday, and T minus 6 days till visa madness.

Until next time.

July 7th, 2010

...And then there are times where your body just decides things for you, which mine is incredibly good at doing (and drives me batty). I spent most of last night awake and in pain, as my entire intestinal region was tied in knots, and then this morning I thought, well, it's just cramps, they'll work out -- and was in the process of putting in my contacts when a wave of nausea hit me. So I took out the contact that was already in and went back to bed, promptly sleeping for another four hours or so.

Considering it all, it's not really surprising to me this happened; my body has a way of making sure I don't get too ahead of myself, and especially when I'm stressed it has a habit of making sure I stop for a bit and rest. As you know, reading my frantic posts about official documents, I have been under a fair amount of stress, and found myself last night strangely depressed about a variety of things. Disturbed about some things. Worried about others.

I'm not really sure how much I want to say here, but I can give you a sketch -- surprisingly, only some of it has to do with Paris. But it makes up a fairly large percentage. It's like, I'm a little guilty at how scared I am of the trip, especially as excited as I am about it and as convinced I am that I'm supposed to be there. But I can't deny that being by myself in a foreign city for nine months is, in all honesty, a little terrifying. It's a long way from home, and the only family member that will probably have enough money to visit me is my sister, Darcy. (not the one here in Asheville with me). That's great, but...

It also brings me to another thing that's been bothering me, which is that I miss my parents dearly. I have always been very close with my parents, and since september, I have probably seen them a total of 24 days. I came home for spring break and summer break last year, but not so this year -- I'm happy to be in Asheville, but it just bothers me that I will hardly see them, save a week at the end of August and then god only knows when, after I return from abroad (which is very uncertain right now).

And as much as I dislike admitting it, I have to say that the 'heaviness' around me at the hotel gets me down a bit -- I know that by accepting that, I'm playing the game and therefore losing, but it's just...heavy. I'll have to work on being able to punch through the webs of seriousness.

And then just to add a cherry on top, without naming any names and trying to be as nonchalant as possible about this, it's been really bothering me that I should meet someone I really like when I only have three months to know them. It just seems like a remarkably cruel joke, and you'd probably understand better if you know my history with such things.

So I have today and tomorrow to do nothing and let my soul catch up with me, search it when I do, and get this thing I call me back on track.

Ciao.

July 6th, 2010

I love the fourth of July, for a variety of reasons. First of all, for very simple reasons -- I love fireworks. Explosions of color and the bang bang you can feel in your stomach. Plus I love July, because it's my birthday month, and before it gets too hot but when the colors are still saturated and the sky's still violently blue. Sparklers late at night, fireflies winking in and out of existence, ice cream, bare feet on a baseball field -- those so patently summertime bubbles of life that you can't possibly resist.

Also, I love thinking about Independence Day at the beginning, before America meant Manifest Destiny and Imperialism and banning same-sex marriages, before it meant the stock market or the economic crash -- no, back when America was just a dream, the brain child of a bunch of brilliant, agnostic, philosophical men who were daring enough to dream of freedom, where life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness truly were unalienable rights. The philosophy of the Declaration itself, the culture of colonial America, the events that forced a group of reluctant old Englishmen to declare their King a traitor -- I think it's fascinating to think about/study. It was why I misguidedly considered a political science major for some time.

(I have been biking/walking/standing sooo much. My legs are quite upset with me).

Anyway so Hilary and I really had to celebrate on the fifth, seeing as I worked the 7a-1p, 5p-10p shift on Sunday (that was KILLER), and we both had the day off on Monday (well, I had to be at work at 4p, but most of the day). We have hardly seen each other recently, what with her at the Tourists and me at the theater, so it was fantastic to get to just hang out, which is something the two of us do well -- when we have the time. (Rarely). So we slept in late, and decided to go kibitz about downtown for awhile.

We decided to check out Woolworth and Co, the old F.W. Woolworth 5cent store that's now been renovated into Asheville's largest art gallery, with all local artists. We must have spent a forty five minutes at least wandering around and bemoaning that we couldn't afford art -- but really, there were some incredible pieces in there. I am absolutely wild about color, and there was plenty of that, especially at the booth selling paintings in the style of "New Orleans Jazz Expressionism", which was amaaaaazzzzing. Some of the photographs, too, plus these incredible gothic pieces that I just about had a cow over.

After we checked out all the art, we decided to get lunch at the 50s style soda fountain/diner thing in the building, and bought grilled cheese sandwiches and shakes - chocolate for Hilary, hazelnut mocha for me. We sat on red plastic chairs and looked at the menu, with handdipped ice cream and vintage coca cola bottles, "The Saturday" version along with a Sundae. I don't know why, but I love that old 50s style and food -- all terrible for you, of course, but we all have our vices.

We then meandered out into downtown, and found our way to the park just beyond Pack Place, and stuck our feet in the fountain there, mingling with all the little kids in swimsuits, trying to predict which fountain is going to go off next. Just beyond is a little amphitheater with a walkway in the back with a grid of warped metal on the top -- to the left are the county court houses, to the right is the fountain, and in the front are the blue ridge mountains, absolutely lush and treed. With the sun on my back, just looking around, I was just so happy. Life really is wonderful.

We wandered back through downtown and found an AWESOME knick knack shop on Wall Street -- at least, I think it was Wall Street, but I would be back for sure if I had money (that old tired refrain), then headed home and I went to work shortly thereafter.

The evening shift has been pretty fun to work, even though you don't make as much money -- the restaurant is pretty dead at night -- but the one waiter that I've been working with is named Rey, a short Brazilian gay guy (yes, I know, the recipe for amazing). We just spent the evenings chatting about guys, life, music, and anything else that came to mind, and on Sunday night the cook got bored and decided to make us dinner. It was reallllly good. Also, we had a rush both nights, and on Sunday it was enough that I got to help out a lot -- bring food, get drinks, etc. Rey is great that he lets me help out so much -- sometimes with the other servers I feel like I would be stepping on someone's toes if I do too much. But I think I'd really like waiting tables -- but if I make more money bussing, then lord knows I won't make too much of a stink over the fact that no one has been honest with me about whether or not I'm even allowed to be trained.

In any case, I am now just waiting for the mail to come and crossing my fingers that somewhere in there is my social security card -- however, I just spoke on the phone with someone from the consulate, who spoke with a heavy French accent, that said I could use an alternate form of proof of residence. I will probably bring everything I can possibly think of, such as a copy of my lease, a pay stub, etc, etc. So that's cool. Now all I need to figure out is the financial guarantee and we should be golden. Yay.

I am starving, so I think I'm going to go make some pancakes for lunch and curl up on the couch with my new book -- it's called Angelology, by Danielle Trusson, and I got it free from Malaprops after I saw it on the shelves, thought it looked interesting, and went to go see if anyone at the front desk had read it. They hadn't, but they had a damaged copy in the back they gave to me. Wahoo.

Tonight I'm thinking about going to a dance class at a studio Raj referred me to, a modern class. I'm a little reluctant to at the moment, because it involves me getting off my butt and getting over there this evening, but it would probably be good for me, seeing as I'm not dancing nearly enough.

Anywho. I'll figure it out.

Catch you later.

July 2nd, 2010 Part 2

After several more items of frustration, including an errant letter from the financial aid office at Columbia University and missing information that I already sent. All that fun stuff. Plus a miniature nervous breakdown. I am not usually like this. It is the phase of the moon, if you catch my meaning.

My dad just called me with his usual unusual advice. He operates under a lifestyle of full accountability and no excuses, including what he calls "The Asshole Principle": That is, when there is an 'asshole' in your life, or something blocking your way, it is there because you have somehow created it and is there to teach you something about yourself. That is, what is the "hook" that is keeping you from moving forward. He wanted to invite me to ask myself why I have created an energy of distress for myself today despite the organic reasons.

It's an interesting question, and I'm interested in the answer, even as I have no clue myself. I have been extremely apprehensive about the visa process as well as the financial aid process. There have been a lot of stumbling blocks, which have added to my worries, but I suppose by worrying more I create more stumbling blocks. My main worry is just time -- getting it all together and ready to go at a certain time. I thought I had a LOT more time, but then July hit and suddenly I don't even have two weeks anymore before I go to the consulate -- if I even keep that appointment time.

I guess it's just the terribly oppressive and scary thought of having to figure it out by myself -- in the case Raj can't help me get down, it's me. In a foreign city, trying to find a building where I have heard everything about how if you don't have the right number of copies and exact documents they need, you don't get the visa.

What would that mean? No Paris, I suppose, and that thought is probably the scariest -- I'm convinced, for whatever reason, that I must be in Paris next fall, and thus I have to make it happen somehow. But ever more the stumbling blocks to get there keep arriving, and ever since I got into the program there have been reasons to doubt my ability to physically be in Paris. Why is that? Do I not want to go?

Maybe I'm just scared of it. It's a long way from home. It's a foreign culture. I probably won't know anyone at all. I don't have a lot of money. There's a lot that is uncertain, and unsure, and the responsibility falls -- for the most part -- on my own shoulders. I have a tendency, when that happens, to not want to deal with things. Just say, I can't deal with this, and back away. I suppose the lesson is, dive in and grab it with your teeth, accept the challenges cheerfully, instead of fearfully (that rhymes). Cheesy sounding, I know, but probably truthful.

One of the other things I wanted to blog about today was my recent thoughts on the fact that, despite everything, I will only be turning 20 years old two weeks from tomorrow. I am only halfway through college, and yet, in the past six weeks, I have been living as though I am fully an adult and graduated. I hardly know how to think about being back in school; after all, we found an apartment, I went hunting for -- and got -- two jobs, and I've been worrying about furnishing and grocery bills and whose turn it is to do the dishes. It has been overwhelming in the fact that it really wasn't that overwhelming at all (I know my earlier frantic posts will deny that, but in retrospect). And yet, here I am, not even twenty one (I've noticed it would be great to be twenty one and be able to go hang out at bars with my sister, just to be together and out, and not necessarily stuck in the apartment). Not even twenty.

I suppose that, in trying to be an adult in life here in Asheville, I've been trying to compensate by subconsciously wanting the visa process to solve itself, and since it hasn't, it's been trying to get my attention and show me that, despite my best efforts to ignore it, I really have to take responsibility for it and make it happen.

That, and today just isn't a good day for me.

I can't decide if I want to wait and just sniff out if there is a possibility that I actually will be able to make the appointment, and start trusting that things will work out -- a novel idea -- or change it now. I think my best option is to see where we are next Friday and then decide -- but of course it affects work schedules and everything else, since everyone is expecting me to be gone a certain weekend and it will fuck up a lot of things if that changes. But we shall see, and I suppose I will try my best to calm down about it all.

Until later.

July 2nd, 2010

Those of you who have met me probably know I am a remarkably mild person; I rarely get angry, and if I do, I don't tend to show it. But there is a temper hidden under there, and it was lit earlier today, after I arrived at the DMV and was told that 1) I need my social security card for a NC ID card, and 2) they do NOT, as I was informed, print the cards right there; in fact, it takes 10 days for them to send it to Raleigh and get it mailed back to you.

My social security card is currently in Colorado. I accidentally yelled at my poor mother over the phone and hung up on her upon realizing then that Monday is a holiday and therefore the earliest I could possibly get the card would be Tuesday. The 6th. If I then get to the DMV on Tuesday, it would be exactly ten days until my appointment, and we were planning to leave on the 15th.

Pardon my French for a second:

FUCK. THAT.

Upon hearing all of this, I was heartily tempted to throw my cell phone at a nearby wall -- I didn't. I waited until I got home, and then threw it at the couch. I'm convinced I'll have to change the time of the appointment, which probably means that Raj can't come with me, which means I'll have to bus down there. Sounds like a BUNDLE of roses, heading down by myself on a bus full of creepy old men who spend their time eyeing me like a piece of meat. They only do that all the time here in Asheville. FUCK YOU PEOPLE, I'M A HUMAN BEING!!

I think you may have guessed I'm frustrated. And stressed. I'm just at a loss, if I want to just hope that it gets here in time, or go ahead and change the damn thing, or what. This whole process has been a bit of a nightmare, and just now I picked up an e-mail from Columbia financial aid saying they haven't reached my study abroad worksheet, something that I didn't realize was required. Now I have to reprint, refill, and mail it. ARGH. Why am I even doing this?!

I have a lot more to say, but I need to cool off for awhile. I'll write later with some updates/thoughts.

Until then. I hate bureaucracy.