11:07 a. m. » The Restaurant and the People

The night before last I ate at a restaurant with the family. Three year-old Elsa wanted to sit on my lap -- which freaked me out. I'd never even given her anything. Why should these kids love me so much anyway? Is it because they can say what they want with no consequence? Doubtful. I follow most everything of what they say, and it seems innocent. You never know with that sarcasm though. Who knows. Maybe they start them young here. I had a duck platter (with quiche and a stuffed tomato), wine, and tirimisu. All were, naturally, delicious. Though she'd surely completely sussed me out, the waitress, apparently, thought better of it NOT to poison my food -- nor that of the family that is harboring me. The next day though, suspiciously enough, Jaqueline seemed surprised that I hadn't been sick the night before.

I'm back to thinking that the entire French population wants me dead. Random passerbys on the street are, and so graciously, giving me a complex. Do I have a staring problem? I think not. Odds are it's the people here as a whole. They know. They know. Never have I found myself living in such general social fear and self consciousness. I can't begin to describe the extent of deterioration to which my confidence and/or soul has/have already been subjected. I think I'm supposed to be hating myself. This might be the end. Thank God that this family has the decency to at least uphold this charade of hospitality, if that's what it is. I play little games with myself as I walk among the crowds -- maybe because I then feel a bit less lonely? I always lose. I swear to God it's their fault, but I can't help it.

I bought the jeans, and they were ridiculously expensive. You may be pleased to know though that the store clerk was such a fucking gentleman that he cut 3 euros off the price. My luck with these people may be changing afterall.

 1:52 p. m. »  ye ole vinegar soaked manacles of doom!

dude, maybe you should cut back a bit on the Hunter S Thompson.
And yes they start them quite young on the sarcasam in France.

 12:00 p. m. »  d

Charles: I finished that goddam book the day we met! I'm reading Virginia Woolf now -- more on her later.

Sheri: Don't worry about me. I remain strong. More on the jeans later.