If only I were as prolific as I was during charrette.
I'm not here for much longer (in Paris); I could begin a countdown. But I'd rather not (fifteen days).
When I feel at ease somewhere, I like knowing that I'm going to be there for, at the very least, a month. But that's no longer the case. So I'm a bit sad. But wherever I go next, depending on the three-letter word (begins with a j), chances are I'll be there for a while. Maybe I can finally put up some bookshelves. And marry new books with old ones. Acquire some wine glasses.
On a happier note, I await, first, a friend from Houston, and then my family—sister, brother-in-law, father. When my father arrives, a trip to the Netherlands is in order, as I haven't been back since I left seventeen years ago. Whoa.