Sunday, February 13, 2011

I am Sick, Out of American Snacks, Doubly Unhappy

One of the cool streets of Lyon I could be walking down (extra-realistic cause of the scaffolding). 

          This cosmopolitan and adventurous image has now been downgraded to one of me, in my pajamas, weakly drinking tea, watching Community, with a sallow complexion and an expression of perpetual grumpiness.

My inner child: “I want to fully embrace all the opportunities that working abroad has afforded me! I want to speak French with strangers! I want to visit museums! I want to walk through the city aimlessly! I want to pet dogs in the park! I want to travel the world! CARPE DIEM! I feel so alive!”

My immune system: “Just try it, loser. You take one foot out of the house and I will cripple you like an elderly lady without a walker. See what a nice day it is outside? See how cheap train tickets are on Well take a deep breath, if your phlegmy lungs can, grab some tissues, and LE SUCK IT. I OWN YOU.”

          Just laughed at myself, to myself, alone, in my apartment. Because the noise my throat made when I cleared it was so amazingly disgusting. Have reached a new low.

           Please send kettle corn (just ate my last care-package pack) and pity.

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