1:27 p. m. » The Roadtrip and the Kids

This morning I awoke in the rear of a camping car, parked at a random rest stop, in the south of France, near the sea I think. I have been in the company of Didier whom I trust, know fairly well, and enjoy spending time with. Needless to say, I feel a bit more at peace than usual, and there's a sort of gentleness reciprocating between me and my surroundings. Last night we drove to Lyon again, dropping his daughter, Marie, whom I previously described as the girl I may someday marry, at the airport. I'm quite sad that I may never have a chance to see her again, as we shared many laughs, and educational (for me) coversations (that, as you could guess, were drastically limited for obvious reasons). I've made connections with a few of the children. Aurélion, the ten year-old who consoled me about long distance relationships. Emma, the five year-old, who after seeing me yell at the dog, laughed and informed me that French dogs don't understand English. They will be missed -- their big eyes and their ridiculously French haircuts.

By the way, yesterday as I sat at the poolside, at the house in which I'm currently living, one of the young boys was playing with a toy car, yelling "Oh no! It's President Bush's car! Oh no! It's falling into the sea!" as he threw it into the water, "Oh no! He's swimming! Oh no! The sharks! Oh no! He's dead! President Bush is dead! DOMMAGE!" Earlier, his younger female cousins walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but undies and long, elegant, ballroom dress gloves. He turned to me (he's 10 years-old) and said, "The definition of fashion." These kids will kill me before anyone else has the chance...

I got off topic there, but anyhow, we then drove to southern France to drop off the beast vehicle thing. We drove Didier's 1987 Renault back through the countryside, alongside fields of lavender, olives, grapes, and apples. We stopped to pick a few blossoms of said flower, resting, enjoying the fresh smell, standard in this area. I am back in downtown Grenoble -- probably for the last time.

Cécile arrives in an hour. Next post should be juicy.

I breakfasted on a terrace today, as the sun was rising. Flowers hugged the edges, everything was as gold as Ponyboy, and the croissants, bread, and chocolate were delicious, as expected. The house had a wide screen television, two computers, a pool lined with stones, a large yard, and a wood burning stove. It was obvious that these people had money -- or at least that's what they wanted me to think.

So, like I said, I've been using Virginia Woolf as relaxation time. It may be a place and time type of thing, but some of the passages are quite powerful. I'd like to discuss her stream of consciousness writing style or the way that she shifts topics and characters, but it all seems too fragile.

This post totally makes me sound like a homo.

 3:06 p. m. »  ye ole vinegar soaked manacles of doom!

D, tatar rules man, you don't need anti-biotics for that. Your body loves it. I think you should write your next post in the style of Henry Miller. Its close to what you are doing right now but without the drug induced paranoia.

Oh and the French are trying to kill you. France called me last night and informed me of their plans.

 10:31 a. m. »  d

But dude, the only drugs I've been doing are Clariton and Cipro!