pondering the latent humidity (no metaphors)

my body is dissipating between the slats of my childhood bed. i miss the fast pace of the city because it forced me into motion. here, time slips away without a schedule, without a trajectory. swimming through dense jelly with leaden boots. it's been difficult to surface.

writing helps. playing will too once i settle into a pace. any tips from the wise? i've been looking for jobs, right now the crêperie at café de paris sounds the most promising. gas is up to $3.16/gallon, still cheaper i know than europe, where gas is sold by the liter, but quand même $50 for a tank of gas is obscene. french feels heavy on my tongue, like someone gummed it up and threw it back. tomorrow, a new day, a new week, perhaps i can figure out where to jam all these things i have into some sort of organization? it will take inspiration. i'm getting a haircut, maybe i'll come out with a clear head.

i missed indian buffets in france. scene of today's crime: house of india on snowden river parkway. chicken tikka masala, pea curried deliciousness, naan bread, sweet lassi, many other delights whose flavors bled into eachother and simmered into my mouth. i will sleep tonight without pause. the narrative of "inheritance of loss" bleeds into my dreams. sylvia plath's poetry sits darkly in the corner of my mind.

comment as you will, mes amis. pointers from slices of your life, outlooks from across the ocean, all much appreciated.