on death & dying

today, I cannot walk in the streets. today, I am incapable of manoeuvering the dodge. I don't know why.

I found my favorite part of toulouse. it's at the end of rue alsace-lorraine where it becomes rue languedoc, so there's still enough good shops to make it interesting but not busy shopper crazy like closer to capitole. it's near the musée des augustins and place esquirol, a very pleasant little corner, and also near the jardin des plantes. all the adjoining little side streets are cute and artisanal and personalized instead of run-down and sketch. everything feels fresh and pleasant and discoverable instead of typical city grunge. I found the coolest little boutique that I must go back to where I will surely spend too much. I held off on 2 things I wanted (be proud) but got a pencil case for myself and many postcards, all of them unique and pretty much the coolest postcards I've ever seen, except maybe the ones I got in montmartre for kryn that I still haven't sent. 20 euros later, the shop was closing and I was a happy camper.

it seems more and more to me, being around old people all the time and their slow disintegration, that the body betrays us. and not just in old age. there are so many 30 year olds getting cancer. I see 90 year olds in relative good health and 60 year olds who can longer move enough to leave the house and 50 year olds who die out of nowhere, from a heart attack, or fast-moving cancer, or a tumor they didn't know they had. I'm only 20, so I guess I can't really know, but it feels like it didn't use to be like this. we got sick and we died, at all ages, but from the outside enemy, the infiltrating bacteria or some airborn virus. now, the body has revolted and started self-destructing from the inside-out, for some faster or earlier than others. I feel born into a world built on a food system and a way of life apart from the earth and our origins over which I have no control. I don't know what toxins are inside of me, no one does, cause we don't know what, in all of the billions of changes we've made to ourselves and our earth, is causing the internal revolt. it's both out of my hands and inside of them and I feel like death could strike us any day and we're lucky beyond imagining to wake up in the morning, to open our eyes and see beauty, and breathe in the words of the ones we love.

we're dying imperceptibly on our feet.

the weekend

I bought the cheapest cell phone I could find, a little black brick for 19€ and since receiving calls is free for me, I had my mom call me and we talked for 2 and a half hours. hahah yeah, free for me, not for her, but it was so wonderful to talk to her. I was talking a mile a minute and we still talked for that long and we could have talked for hours more, I'm sure.

the 4th of july, I celebrated by being more social than usual. I went to the ward activity in the morning - it was a ward breakfast (ward breakfast mon oeil, there were maybe 20 people there) and then we watched the movie Saints and Soldiers in french. I hadn't ever seen it, just the opening scene one time when mom and dad were starting it and I was going out. my impression of that scene, my memory, compared with how it really was, is astoundingly different. that screaming soldier was only screaming for about 3 seconds in the real thing, but for me in my head I thought it was like 5 minutes ... it was a really good movie, though the attempts to capture french culture were a little contrived. afterwards, I had a long conversation with laure and then I was invited to lunch with laure and kathy and kathy's husband and kids (they're like celesta's family frenchified). the kids ate macdo and we had pizza - it was an epic french meal ...

I got out my sketchbook for the first time in awhile and could hardly believe what the result was. it expressed a huge amount of misandry and anger. I guess it shows how strongly I feel about my male/female interactions here. it's really hard being a young single woman with a large chest. not only am I constantly having to avoid creepers and come-ons, it's just the constant attention that gets to me. I feel out of control of my own body because people are enjoying it without my permission and it makes me feel completely objectified. this isn't saying that all french men are like this, they don't just fill that stereotype, but in general, the cultural approach to sex and bodies is more open and public, so it's more acceptable to act like that, I guess. I have to say, I'm so excited to be going back to a place where I don't have to be afraid of or angry at men all of the time.

so ... yup, hard as it is to believe, I miss provo. I never really thought I'd be able to honestly say that, but I do. it's familiar and clean and not a city and people who I miss and love are in provo. it's really strange, but I think provo has become my home -- I miss my family a ton, but the place I miss is provo, not virginia. maybe because france is so much like virginia in temperature and greenery etc. that I'm drawn more towards the environmental aspects that are lacking here. I don't know. needless to say, I am learning so many things about myself here in france.

I'm starting to visit my round of 25-ish old people for the second time and starting to have real friendships with some of them and it makes me happy. I'm going to visit suzanne benezech for the 2nd time this afternoon and I can't wait because the woman seriously loves me to death. I think she would adopt me if she could. and her great-grandson of 5 years old thinks I'm pretty :) that's my in, weasling my way into the hearts of young frenchmen. I've got little wilson on my side, what else do I need?

harry potter movie posters are starting to go up around the city and I watched the trailer for the first time today and I forgot how incredible the 6th book is ... I'm getting so excited!!!

starstruck lovers

here we are, dear
won't you take my hand?
it's not far from here
just at the top of the hill

yes, I know the sunset's already done
it's pretty, but not what I had in mind
tonight, I want to show you a different kind
of beauty, a quieter light than the sun,
even a bedding down one.

I'd love to just stand here at the top
with you, hand in hand, for the next hour,
and the wind sweeping us into our
contented infinity

but that's not why I brought you here.

now lie down next to me, no don't let go,
just look up. do you see it? let me show
you. he's always there, I promise.
well, he promised me. Orion, that is,
a steadfast friend

and the seven sisters, half here
half there twinklers that flicker
in and out of your focal point.
you have to be careful, if
they know you're watching they'll try
to trick wink you out of your mind.

I bet you thought that was it,
this nightlight showcase of old friends,
but the faintest light was your surprise tonight,
the heartshine in my eyes that you
may not have even seen.

sometimes it's easy to miss.

cry wolf

I think fire alarms have issues with me. I have had nothing but trouble with them.

on our trip down south, the first hotel we were in, (in vienne, with the awesome british guy patron and the most excellent breakfast and the room where I sat on the window ledge with my feet on the roof and listened to my ipod), the fire alarm went off around midnight. it was weird, I almost didn't even recognize it as a fire alarm. it was ... not a fire.

then, the last hotel we were in, (in sarlat, the penthouse room with the painful carpet but the most wonderful ambiance and the old-fashioned key), it went off again. we were on the top floor and there are only two rooms up there and it was so sweltering hot that we (me allison and amy) were just chilling with our door open and some guy comes up the stairs and apparently he accidentally hit the fire alarm while looking for the light switch.

then, in my, I don't know what to call it ... house? apartment? room? well, residence jolimont, there was a fire in the trashcans and then a couple more times the fire alarm went off, I think it's hyper-sensitive now or something, or maybe people just need to stop smoking inside. then the other day, the alarm went off 3 or 4 times at night, around midnight, and went off 6 times throughout the night and early morning. all false alarms. I stopped getting up. they'd better fix it.

I don't know if I will ever take a fire alarm seriously again. this is worse than school fire drills.

tittles

yesterday, while eating lunch in the park
(with some bum sitting on the bench next to me
and everyone else lighting up. I'm trying to eat here, people)

sometimes, people are difficult to talk to. they don't say much or respond much and I'm casting around for things to say and it sounds like so much meaningless air coming out of me. but still, whenever I've just plowed through an hour of me talking and them looking bored, they always seem surprised and a little disappointed when I say I have to go and want to know when I'm coming back. I guess it makes a difference, just being there. it's hard to know when to leave, though.

isn't it funny how you never know what random things about you are secretly grossing people out? and since whatever grosses someone out is sure to differ with every person, you never know. cause people are grossing me out all the time. maybe I'm the odd one out here ...

I don't want to spend the money, but I really need to get a cell phone. it's not very safe to not have one.

I want to visit mathias & drew in marseille, because it looks so bright and ethnic and full of character. and kryn was there. I want to see where kryn was.

it's kind of a blessing that every store I go into, nothing fits me right. the soldes are going on and I could be spending up a storm.

I think I'm compelled to write down all these little thoughts because I have no one to say them to and I need to communicate somehow, even if it's just this.

I think I always smell like cigarette smoke. I'm really tired of all the smoking.

there's a triangle of the back of my neck that's about 10 shades darker than all the rest of my body. because it's never seen the sun before, I suppose.

things about France:

- doors open and close the opposite direction
- crutches look like old people & cripple crutches instead of our under the arm kind
- there's dog poop everywhere. it's disgusting.
- leisurely bikers in the city
- trashcans are just bags, no cans
- birkenstocks are back, as are loose-fitting, long, bohemian clothes
- nastified creepy leerers are everywhere
- babies in strollers everywhere, as well as mothers & fathers w/ their kids
- also banks & ATMs everywhere
- women are always well-dressed, but neglect their hair
- the walk/don't walk of pedestrian crossings doesn't flash in warning. it just switches.

jots

I find myself jotting down random things,
a running conversation with myself, if you will.
it makes me feel a little less silly if I share it with you,
so here is last sunday (the 21st)

it's kind of cold.
storm coming?

I can't understand the bus driver.
he speaks quickly & with a strange accent,
even though he's white & regular looking
... I don't know what he's saying.

I am a half hour early for church.
Note to Self: it does not take an hour to get here.
more like ten minutes, depending on when the bus leaves.
if I weren't wearing heels, I'd just walk it,
it's not that far from my house ...
it's a really nice church building -- I'm impressed.

I don't know why I'm suddenly afraid to speak French ...
now would be a good time to pray not to be shy & awkward
& not to be afraid. it's so much easier in a group.

sometimes I wonder how in the world
I'd ever be brave enough to be a missionary.
but sometimes I can be so brave. I don't get it.

It's about 20 til. I'm going to go in now.

gone are the days when I could count
the number of times I'd done the bise.
that's all we do at church is give the bise.
I like how natural it looks when it's done right.

I'm starving.

I think pretty much every woman in this ward has served a mission.

it's not fall yet ...

Chanson d'Automne
by Paul Verlaine

Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone.

Tout suffoquant
Et bleme quand
Sonne l'heure
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure;

Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
De ça, de là,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.