je ne sais pas pourquoi

I'm going to France in a month and a half to live and study and exist. When I picture myself in Paris I always see myself wearing a beret and smoking a cigarette, while I sit at a cafe and discuss poetry with an attractive French man. I usually sigh with relief at this vision, until I snap to and remember that I don't smoke, don't discuss poetry in ENGLISH even, and French men are creepy. Then I usually feel my heart drop to my stomach, my stomach drop to my feet, and my feet sink into the floor 29 inches. I'm moving to another country on my own. I'm doing WHAT?!

I suppose that I am basically 21 years old and these are things that 21 year olds do. I think. Do they? And since when did my life become that of a Hollywood starlet? Living in LA, trips to New York, winters in Paris? I have to take a second and re-evaluate when I reached this point in my life. Wasn't it just yesterday that I was sitting on the dance floor in the middle of a circle of friends to avoid Anthony Bonjiavano from asking me to slow dance at the 7th grade semi-formal? Anthony, I never meant to hurt you...I just didn't see it working out in the long run. Like your locker was REALLY far away. That apology still flows from a very recent and real place within me, so when did I enter my 20s and start globe trotting and saying things to friends like...well let's meet in London for Thanksgiving? Thanksgiving is spent at my grandparents' house with an overabundance of relatives asking the same questions over and over, and dying of heat exhaustion because my grandfather is wearing 10 flannel shirts and 3 pairs of socks and is still freezing. Thanksgiving does NOT include fish and chips and the phrase "top of the morning to ya"...which is most likely Irish or Scottish...but it doesn't include those countries either. I'm scared. I'm scared shitless. When I announce that I am studying abroad, people instantly blurt out, "what a great experience", to which I want to say..."Would you like to go in my place? My visa and passport say Caitlin, but Dave you're practically my doppelganger...France will never know the difference." I am beyond lucky, I know...but my cojones are not large enough for this.

After a month or so, when I'm wearing that beret and speaking French to that good looking man, I'll look back and laugh at my sillyness in the matter. Until then I want to cry to my mommy...and I better start, because soon that will cost me $20,500 a minute in international phone calls.