crusty bread, the smack of balsamic vinegar, and honey from the south.

the latter in a thin layer over a carton of yaourt nature (activia, danon, the green one). these are staples of my existence chez cheminal. shoutouts to those who have written me letters, i think i wrote more to you than you did to me. i've been getting writer's cramp lately, filling out neverending paperwork for the abroad program whose credits don't really count for much at oberlin except to say that i did something in paris and taking frantic notes in the cm section sur "les dynasties en inde" so as not to make an ass of myself when i decide it's a good idea to open my mouth and answer one of her questions that she so intimidatingly leaves suspended in the air for 10 or 15 seconds.

warning: the following text is french, because i'm having writer's block in english. ça arrive de temps en temps.

cet après-midi j'ai vu meredith benjamin, finalement, une camarade de cupa (pour manger un crêpe chocolat et prendre un café crème dans un petit café que nous aimons bien sur rue de rivoli et pour discuter la vie d'une parisienne) qui est maintenant en train de finir un dissert de 12 page parce qu'elle part demain à londres! et c'est un jour ferrier demain, alors il n'y a pas beaucoup de bibliothèques ni magasins qui sont ouverts - tant mieux si elle peut le finir ce soir. moi, franchement j'ai complètement peur de commencer mon dissert pour "le monde islamique," parce qu'il y a un article que j'ai trouvé dans le journal muqarnas de 1996 qui était écrit en anglais sur l'architecture de la mosquée à al-azhar. c'est mon sujet, mais il faut dire l'information 1) en français et 2) dans une autre manière. il faut que je trouve un autre traitement de l'histoire de la construction et la renovation de la mosquée, mais il n'y reste pas beaucoup de temps pour le faire...alors, il faut que je sois prudente, et que je ne ressasse pas trop sur ce que je vais laisser ici...

sometimes i wish, i do

that i could breathe and not cough. that it wasn't 0ºC and raining in paris. that lawrence earp could do my motet analysis for me. so that then i could prepare my bibliography for my paper on the mosque at al-azhar in peace. that i could snap my fingers and a lonely planet/lets go morocco would appear in my hand and i could instantaneously book hostels. cheap ones, with no sketchy people. that i could stock librarie imagigraphe with wanderlust stationary, so i don't have to buy tacky high-heeled andy warhol paper. that the things sold at museum gallery bookstores didn't always break my wallet (except in sweden, where i bought a book in the icons series about extraordinary objects bound upside-down for 20 kronor, which is about 3 dollars). that somehow, someone could meet me once on the street and get me, take me at face value, and not be blown asunder. that the desks in st genevieve library could be as accomodating as those in michelet. that my legs didn't ache. that i could play the flute again. that i could have a pocket version of maéva to smile and blink at me.