Lucky to have been where I have been, lucky to be coming home again.

Those who know me know how much I absolutely loathe packing. I do it so often (making international trips 5+ times a year) that I should be good at it, but I'm not. The first year that I lived in Paris, I dreaded going back to the States for the summer for this very reason. It's embarrassing to say now, but I actually called my mother and begged her to make the 5000 mile journey to help me pack up my belongings. The crazy part? She actually did. 

And she's here again, but not so eager to help me pack. I've spent the better part of the afternoon sifting through the objects I've acquired over the last few years of my life, dividing them into piles of "Take," "Toss," or "Take if I Have Room." This is especially hard for all of my books, because if I had the choice I would take every single one of them with me. Thankfully, my mother flew first class over here so she's allowed two 70-pound bags and a third 40-pound one. 

The comments that a couple of you left on my last post echo the sentiments of nearly everyone I meet. "You're moving back?" they ask, confounded. Yes, I am. Truth be told I'm quite excited to do so. Paris is, of course, an amazing city, and I love living here. But I wish to pursue higher education back in my home country, and I have to say it will be nice to live somewhere other than a big city for awhile. 

Nevertheless, you'll probably see a whiney comment or two here around August lamenting the fact that I won't be returning anytime soon. I'm just going to make the best of my last few days. 

Bisous!