Hit or Miss, and Delicate All Around

There is of course a part of me that sometimes feels sharply like giving up. Today, Sunday, I marched alone through town, up the main road, and ventured into the modern part of the city. The part that looks much less like romantic old France than where I live and so rarely leave. I actually continued out into the rolling fields and took myself to the olympic swimming pool, (yes oddly located,) and went for a lonely impromptu swim. After that I took myself to a lonelier lunch, and then to a lonelier still movie. [[Pirates of the Caribbean dubbed in French. Jack Sparrow has a certain charm rambling in the language of love but still I felt I was being a bit jipped on the real deal.]]

Truth is I've been here 4 months and don't have a job; and I promised my family that were that the case after only two months I would return defeated with "my tail between my legs."

Not that I'm not nostalgic for beaches and ocean and grass and trees and Hawaii green and my Hawaii girls, but I hate to regress into living with my family in the middle of the Pacific. I want to be living my twenties to the fullest, and, quitting the France dream would be pointedly painful. This is a scary time for me, a time that feels dangerously hit and miss and delicate all around. I don't want to end up a starving artist, or a mooch off my family; do I go back to school for my Masters? Where? How do I afford it? What can I do with the degree that I have? Do I go back to the islands and look for work there? Do I stay in France, or do I leave and risk putting it back on the unreachable, seemingly phantasmal side of the Earth where it has been all of my life till now?