Why Don't You Just Go Gush About it

It's a little early to spill the beans on this, but I'm getting a bit too excited not to share. The previously mentioned me and 5+ drunk French guys in Prague adventure: just been potentially transformed into exclusively me and TMI romantic Prague adventure. Score! The result: I'm thrilled out of my mind.

I'll be honest, I was getting pretty excited about going with friends too, so if that option comes roaring back I won't complain more than expected, but romantic Prague under the snow with handsome TMI is just too wonderful a package to not gush a bit about. Plus, overly religious co-workers hopeful that I will redeem myself insist he's going to pop the question. I LOVE that people are gossiping about this, yes, but my young/wiser-to-the-situation self knows very well that's not what's going down.

But here's the really exciting part: a cold winter is on the way and, according to several reliable sources, winter in Prague is particularly chilly. This means I'm in the market for a new coat! Anyone have any advice for a Hawaii girl when facing the Old World in January? I've been sort of lurking around this navy blue Moment coat from Gentle Fawn the last week.. what do you guys think? What are your favorite looks this winter? ..And favorite coats you can share with me? I promise some classy Prague photos! (artistically anonymous, of course <3)

Snow

Well, after all that scurrying and worrying, the plans have changed and yet a few more French adventures (and naps and sex and boredom and challenges) lie ahead. The airline prices never went down and I wasn't able to cushion my emotional turmoil with a return plan before Christmas, so it appears I will be in France with TMI and his family after all. It will be my first Christmas without warm Hawaii sand and temperate outdoor dinner parties, and the consequential homesick of this reality has been pelting me like a sudden hail storm, but the good news: I will be here until February and thus have time to endure necessary French exams, scary phone interviews, and essay writing that could get me into a Masters program here in Dijon; granting me the ever sought after student visa and means to come back to the country I love. This means I can weather the 18 hours of flight time without attempting lost-love-themed suicide in the bathroom.

So this means my first Christmas day with my significant other's family, possibly a New Year's adventure in Prague, (which could require all night partying, death, and sharing a hostle room with 5 French guys) and a ski trip in the Alps. Probably all wrinkle inducing but at least blog material, right?

Last but not least, yesterday I ate raclette with TMI and two of his friends. It's this crazy grill + cheese melter thing that you put charcuterie and maybe mushrooms on while cheese melts- than you sort of pile it all together on potatoes on your plate in one big fat festival of social weight gain. I don't know if it was the comfort food or just common sense, but Mr. J finally eased off a bit and the happiness that's supposed to come from good love seems to be peeking out from all that icy insecurity and worry. There's still a lot of snow shoveling to do, I mean, but hey at least there's hope.

That Jerk Mr. J

I waited up for him till 4 am then gave up. I succumbed to sleep while feeling I had left him to the wolves. In my mind I was hearing him laughing and chattering while I huddled alone in the dark. Of course he came home, and of course everything was all right, and yet the weekend left me feeling like a new person. I feel weird. The wine tasting plus the night left alone with my imagination totaled my brain in a crash of jealousy.

I keep thinking of the girl I had the misfortune of watching all of Saturday, the one who had him momentarily before he had me; had his virginity in fact, and I see his hands that I love moving over her skin, I hear his passionate breathing while he moves over her body, kissing her mouth, being inside of her.

And suddenly I feel like I don't know the guy. Of course every one has a past. Mine is much more populated and involved than his certainly has been and there's no reason I should be letting it affect our present. Except there she was: a physical, tangible, real person in front of me and no longer something I could pretend was imaginary or safely in forgettable history.

I have loved, but I've always managed to keep a rational distance from that jerk Jealously. And now, somehow, I've let him get so close to me that he could slip his hands around my neck and cut of the oxygen to my brain. I no longer feel love, I just feel possessive and skittish. How do I get out of this and back into the air?

More Than Love

"I wish you had a favorite beauty spot that you loved secretly because it was on a hidden bit that nobody else could see"

-The Nicest Thing

I am deeply in love. But things are chemically and mentally difficult for me. Last night I went out and attempted to be social with TMI and his friends; we danced and laughed and drank and I desperately sublimated the fact that two of the girls we were passing the night ever so amicably with were previous persons of interest in TMI's physical life. Not. So. Easy.

We were up most of the night, slept for some 3 hours, then awoke in the morning to catch a train to a wine tasting with the same gang. I managed to stay for 6 hours before my feet, exhaustion, and the sight of the rear end of a previous squeeze of TMI drove me away. I tagged along with a couple leaving early and left him with his friends at the event, where they remain still.

I'm so exhausted and just want to go to sleep- but they plan to have a party at one of the girls' apartments tonight starting at 11:30 and going till who knows when. I seriously don't have the physical stamina for this kind of thing. I hate retreating and leaving my boyfriend to those I am jealous of for the whole night while I cower at home, but I also hate to feel like I need to make myself uncomfortable just to prove something / be fabulous when I'm not feeling fabulous to keep my partner.

Sometimes I worry I love his love more than I love him; maybe even more than I love myself.

Beyond the Hormone Hurricane

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The latest from the Etsy:

If you are ever in need of a banner, button, or custom illustration please remember to think of IFFTP <3

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Updates from the battle field: Turns out getting a student visa to study for a Masters degree in France is yet even more complicated than the work visa. You have to register through a website called Campus France and undergo an exam and phone interview long before you even go to the embassy to apply for the visa. This is particularly strenuous for me because, as you all know, I am from Hawaii: the nearest French embassy, aka the French Embassy of San Francisco, is not exactly a hop skip and a jump away. (more like 7 hours and $1000, actually)

You can see for yourself what the process looks like here:

http://www.usa.campusfrance.org/en/page/applying-a-french-master’s-program-–-all-disciplines-hors-dap

In the meantime I'm doing my very best to keep a stiff upper lip, keep calm, and carry on. I want to thank those of you who have commented and messaged me with your positive thoughts and affirmations; the majority vote from outside the hormone hurricane is that love stands a good chance. Thank you for that.

The One's Shelf Life

The work visa fell like a stone giant and crushed beneath it lay the quivering remains of my hope for coming back to France. Last night I had to look at TMI and know that we had a finite number of kisses between us; a dwindling number of times I would open my eyes to his in the morning.

Of course, I cried like life was a lost cause long into the night and again this morning. It doesn't help that I'm visiting with TMI's family in the South, wanting to be well liked but sitting silent at each meal with a trembling lip.

Hurled yet again into post-graduate-obscurity. I hate not having a path, and for a few horrific moments I didn't even know what hemisphere I was going to commence my life as a hopeless hobo in.

Fortunately, this afternoon, TMI took a determined eye to the internet and found me some Masters programs I could pursue here in France, assuming that my French were good enough and that I could find the money. There are none in the city of Dijon, so we would only see one another on the weekends, and I wouldn't be starting until September of next year; meaning 9 months of separation.

Does love, realistically, have that sort of endurance? I mean everything has a shelf life, right? This is the one you guys; this is the one I want to make babies with and wake up to every morning. The one and only one I want to kiss before brushing teeth or feel smooshed against me when I'm falling asleep. This is a scary time and I want to know: can I put the One on the shelf, and does it have to hurt this much?

The Driving Force

Late last night I went out dancing with TMI and his friends. As is the norm of my life abroad, I had to overcome my shyness and discomfort of being in a group of someone else's French speaking friends, but I somehow managed to be at least part-way to comfortable. I was wearing a big sweater and not feeling particularly attractive, but I convinced myself to dance away my inhibitions and relax. I kept it up for 30 or 45 minutes and I was under the impression we were having fun. TMI is a wonderful dancer: fun and creative, and I was feeling overcome with pride and love. Finally, to avoid sweater + dance floor induced heat stroke, I stepped off to the side to take a break. He came after me.

...To tell me that I was dancing too provocatively and "sending a message" to all the other men in the club that I was "easy" and "wanted sex."

There I was: standing in a sweater amongst scantly clad French girls, admiring TMI for his dance moves when suddenly I learn that he is, in fact, aggravated and "embarrassed" by me. I told him I wanted to leave and I didn't want him to come with me.

I was furious, but also tired and feeling hurt, so I didn't have it in me to fight or yell when he insisted he leave with me. At home, I was fixing to go to sleep without talking about it, but he said: "I feel like if we don't talk about this now we'll just continue our relationship always feeling like there was a problem we didn't solve." I conceded, but naturally, the talking just made things worse.

Here are the straight up facts: I love him more than I've ever loved anyone. He's gorgeous and talented: I'm courageous and beautiful; but we are both detrimentally jealous and insecure. In the end I almost suspect the fear of loosing one another is what will drive us apart.

Past Cats and Passed Family Members

Honeybees depend not only on physical contact with the colony, but also require its social companionship and support. Isolate a honeybee and she will soon die.

- The Queen Must Die: And Other Affairs of Bees and Men.

Typing in the cafe where I work, I can see three French girls sitting together outside on the terrace. Each holding a white tea cup and sharing a large pot of tea with honey, I can see them chattering: moving their hands expressively, laughing, leaning a chin on their palm while they listen to one another's stories.

Last night I was overcome with such intense nostalgia that I couldn't sleep. I lay there dissecting memories of childhood, school, past Christmases and beach camp-outs, ice cream cones with girl friends after school and granola in the morning with my dad. I thought about past cats and passed family members, old infatuations and home-town landmarks. In my mind I drove my little car along the main road in my tiny mountain town, trying to recall every roadside detail that once outlined my every day.

I've been gone from all of that for a long time. I haven't had a proper girlfriend since coming to France and I scarcely talk to my closest friends from Hawaii. Yes, I am in love with both my boyfriend and with France, but it's time to face the music: I am homesick.

I finally found sleep cozied against TMI who, I might add, totally pissed me off by stealing the blankets in the night and then sort of.. sleep yelling when I tried to steal them back.. but all the same when in complete consciousness he made his best effort to ensure I was cozy. I'm only 23 and all ready regularly body slammed by nostalgia. Does it get worse? Or do we eventually figure out how to embrace Dr. Seuss and not be "sad because it's over, but happy because it happened?"