Now I love doors.

Japanese rust was my beloved muse for a year; now it’s French doors. They take my breath away. The peeling paint, the worn wood near the bottom where thousands of feet have bumped them, the centrally-placed ornate doorknobs, the wrought iron occasionally serving as the appetizer to the main dish, the graffiti so often decorating them… The symbolism of both my international muses is not lost on me either, in case you were wondering.

And what a shame that I cannot photograph them. Almost on par with the fact that I’ve been here one month, and I have not been able to afford to eat at a single restaurant in France, (debatably) the cuisine capital of the world.

Ok, Annemarie. You have the power to remove negative thoughts from your brain. Repeat your mantra that you stole from Liz: I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts any longer.

Sometimes that works.

I’m getting to the point again where I feel like I’m talking to a wall with this blog. My parents all wrote me after the one where I talked about praying; I appreciated that. I think they thought I’m suicidal or something, which isn’t true, though I’m starting to wonder if I am, indeed, ‘Depressed’ with a capital D. I mean, how do you know? I’m lonely and heartbroken and almost unemployed and have $800 in monthly bills. Shouldn’t I be, though? Aren’t I in another country without a single friend or money or the ability to take pictures? Aren’t I no longer with the person I’ve loved hard for a year and a half? Incidentally, I know this is hardly the place to discuss my love life, but many of you have asked about him and I don’t want to explain myself over and over again: he feels like he needs to be alone right now - coming home in December will not be the reunion I had once fantasized about.

The last time I can really remember being depressed was in high school, 10 years ago. I took Zoloft and it helped. Haven’t been on an antidepressant since, but maybe it’s time. Anyhow, about the question of ‘how do you know’, I have lost so much weight that I think it’s a red flag. I’m back to my divorce-weight and I’m living in the land of cheese, bread, crepes and wine for goodness sake.

So, if anyone feels like calling or writing, I’d love to hear from you. And thank you Mom and Dad and Mary Ellen for writing. I think I’ll be okay with a little help from you all. And Sarah too, she’s the only friend I talk to on a regular basis, usually through IM. She is a godsend, that girl.

Ok, let’s get a little lighter, shall we? It’s not really my style but who cares. Yesterday I saw my first all-French movie at the theater with Wietse. It was called 'Entre les Murs' and was a documentary about the French school system. Very good. Won the Palm D’Or or some shit. I understood about 60%, I’d say, so I was proud of myself. What else is new….um…..I’ve met a few people here but I wouldn’t really call them friends. There’s Thibaud who lives in Paris but grew up here and is getting his master’s in computer/new media stuff (and unfortunately will probably not be back before I leave). There’s Kieren who is both American and French and lives in Aubagne; I like him well enough but I think he has his own share of psychological issues and god knows I don’t need to be dipping my toes in any more of that. There’s the 2 Irish girls in law school here that I met at the Post Office and told me to write them on Facebook and then never wrote me back. There’s a bunch of Engineering PhD students I met last night on the street who were nice enough but only here for another week. That leaves me at…. almost nothing. I’m trying to be more assertive but it’s hard! At the market today on Cours Mirabeau I overheard 3 girls speaking English and I really wanted to go up and say ‘Hey, I’m Annemarie!’ but I chickened out and have been kicking myself ever since.

That’s the update for now, I guess. Sorry it’s a little bit boring. I haven’t done anything else besides read, watch movies (allll the time…and for some reason these past 2 weeks they have all been about WWII: Nuit et Bruillard, Japan’s War, and Grave of the Fireflies. This was not intentional but perhaps a subconscious effort to make me stop wallowing in self-pity. Which I need to do with a fierceness. ‘Oh poor me….I’m in France…..waahhh....let's call the whaaaaambulance....’. I know. And this parenthetical situation is entirely too long to be in parentheses any longer. Can I like, break the rules and just not close with a parenthesis? Is that legal? Can you start out with one and then decide you are no longer in parenthetical mode and just not cap it at the end? I think I’m gonna go ahead and do that. It’s my blog. I reign supreme.

So let’s wrap it up, kids! Let’s remind ourselves (and by ourselves, I mean me) that I do not regret coming here. That I do not regret making any of the decisions I’ve made. That I am not a cookie-cutter person who is content to live a cookie-cutter life. That I am cut from the cloth that inspires an adventurous, deeply-feeling, knowledge-seeking, often-uncomfortable life (and apparently requiring many hyphens). At least for right now. I am in love with life and I’m doing my damnedest to appreciate it all. I’m now smiling when I meditate because that’s what the Balinese do. You should too. Bisous.

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