Oh, yes, I really am this fickle-minded.
I mean, it’s true, I hit a manic phase and I start planning things that I probably won’t quite get to – like getting a double honours degree in psychology and neuroscience, then an associates in interior design and then parlé-ing that into a successful book-writing career about the psychology and chemistry of interior design while also running a naturopathic clinic (which would require a degree I’d need to get after finishing that double undergrad, while doing the associates) – but some things, I really do truly mean and really do truly believe that if I just do it, just point my nose in the direction necessary, I can do nearly anything.
Like move to Paris.
Today, I told, I think, the seventh person that I planned to move to France within two years. She, a stranger, had asked if Zoë was picking out French books at the bookstore because I wanted her to learn, or if we were from Quebec.
I said, “Well, I want us both to become totally bilingual, but we’re planning to move to France.”
She blinked and unlike the first six people, didn’t say something appeasing like how exciting or when? how? take me with you?! She said, “Yeah, okay. Good luck with that,” and walked away quickly, as if I had forgotten to wash of the gigantic red stamp from my forehead that said insane.
Maybe I’m just being overly sensitive. Maybe it’s my period. Maybe it’s quitting smoking and being a little testy and the fact that I’ve gained five pounds in a few days because I’ve eaten a box of crackers and six chocolate bars and gone up a cup size. Maybe it’s that my mood is slowing down a little and I’ve started to feel a little panicked, as if this isn’t very realistic, maybe. Moving to Paris.
Whatever the reason, I think it’s important that I refocus my doubts onto the tangible: I’ve saved $30 this week by not buying smokes and Starbucks.
And spent it on books.
And then some.
Something to focus on is that this weekend past, someone compared my face-shape to Zooey Deschanel’s and while at first, I completely mocked said comparer into the realm of Fine. Forget I said anything. Fuck!
…now that I’ve done some Internet research, I can see it a little teensy bit.
We both have wider cheekbones and rounded chins, with faces more wont to look circular, heart or diamond-shaped, and cheeks that hold weight neither of us have an excess of.
Since I’m so rational, and I’ll have to go take care of roots soon, anyway, it seems like I should do something drastic and life-affirming.
Like bangs.
