Friday night, and they day before my brother’s wedding. I remember calculating at the age of like, 8, that possibly by the time I was 16 he could be getting married. I couldn’t wait for the wedding and hoped ardently that I would be right. It kind of adds an interesting aire of nostalgia that tonight, at 24, I am where I am and feeling the way I do hours before the event. -Also that I’ve still, to this day, never been to a wedding.
I’m going back to France on Monday, and I know that in spite of my love for the country, it’s not exactly the responsible or wise thing to be doing. With my current education, (an undergrad in art history and one year into my MA in art admin with a flawless GPA) I could move to San Francisco, Portland, or any US city of my choice and find well paying gallery positions that I am more than qualified to take. Would this make me happy? Yes. Would this be a wise move for my future career? Definitely. Would I undoubtedly meet scads of entertaining people and assuredly fall in love again? My heart squeaks a little here but my brain answers “of course.”
So what this boils down to is that I’m being an idiot. I love France and yes, I’m in love with someone in France. But neither he or the country are particularly likely to become home or family, so nesting there and biding my time just in case one or the other should become a reality is romantic, but probably 100% retarded.
What am I doing and how many people are wondering when I'm going to snap out of it?