I just woke up from a weird dream where I was returning to my old job with a promotion...and Will Farrell
worked there. My buddy David was there, too. At some point we made some crack about how Will should pretend to play the jazz flute. Another guy mimicked the sound of a jazz flute but he was getting way out of hand with it. Oh, and I was cleaning confetti off of the floor of my half-cubicle. Dreams are rad. Does this mean I'm ready to go back to work?
I picked up an ipod before I left on my trip since everyone was freaking out that I wasn't bringing music with me. So far I've used it to watch Battlestar Galactica
(a show everyone recommended for the last two years but I refused to get into... I'm into it now) and to listen to Feist. I honestly have listened to Let It Die
and The Reminder
at least seven to ten times this week. The other night I danced part of the way back from the Louvre. I've started thinking about how I'm not heading back to the United States after this trip. It's a new sensation. From here, I just keep on going. And no American food for ages. Guh. Probably better for my health though.
Labels: France
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