Nouvel An

I'm breaking my cardinal rule of blogging about living in a specific city - writing an entry from someplace other than that city. The blog's about living in Paris, so I originally decided I would only write from Paris, but being at home is really making me want to write, and considering this is really my only creative outlet at this point, I figured it was ok if I made a little exception. I mean, it is MY blog, anyway.

Home is somewhere between good and great, sometimes teetering on amazing, except for the part about me being house-ridden for the past few days because my car decided to crap out on me. It's given me time to clean up - not that I actually have, but at least it's given me the time to. It's also allowed me to think. A lot. About everything. I talk about what I'm going to do with my life a lot, I've noticed, at least on this blog. But what else am I supposed to think about? I'm going into 2008 with no real direction. I'm going back to Paris, and when I'm done, I don't have a plan for what comes next. So, naturally, I've been thinking about it a lot. And I figure if I can at least figure out WHERE I'm going to be, the rest of it might just fall into place without me having to think about it too much.

Alors, problem number one: location, location, location. I've given myself three options, after taking into account a number of different factors, including but not limited to: presence of friends and family, career options, dating options, housing availabilty, opportunities to do something with French, and seasons. New York, Los Angeles, and Paris. I will call one of those cities home next year, I've decided. Paris would be great because it's Paris, and I really do feel at home there. I would be lying if I said I didn't love living there (sorry, Mom), although it is a pain in the ass sometimes. However, living there would mean paying a ridiculous amount for a tiny apartment and having to go through the process of finding a job and getting a work visa, perhaps the biggest bureaucratic bullshit hurdle known to man. New York would be nice because I would get the metropolitan aspects of life without the Parisian snottiness (but New York snottiness may not be much better), and I may actually get to live out my dream of being Carrie Bradshaw after all. And Los Angeles - well, LA has always kind of been home to me, even though I don't technically live there. It would probably be the easiest option, and all my family and most of my friends are here. Plus if I come back to California, there might be a new car in the mix for me. But who knows.

Being home has definitely made me appreciate Paris, though, and also see things from a more objective standpoint. And the trip home made me realize that it is REALLY fucking far from Orange County, in more ways than one. Life is definitely easier here, but I've been trying to figure out if it's better too. And truthfully, I don't think I'll ever really figure that one out.

On a completely different note, I feel like, since it's the New Year, I have to do the obligatory New Year's post, complete with resolutions and all; but, going with the whole New Year, New You attitude most people like to take during the season, I'm saying, "fuck the resolutions." I'm flippin' the bird to the age-old tradition of making myself promises I know I'll never keep. Every year I write my resolutions down in my journal, and every year it all comes down to the same one - the one I always think will solve all my problems, although that's really yet to be seen. It goes something like this: "Every year I make a resolution to lose weight, and I never do it. But I'm REALLY going to do it this time. Really! This is the end of being fat for me, I've had enough. This time next year, I'm going to be a single-digit size. I'm doing it, this is the year. This. Is. The year."

And even though I really want to go back to that journal and write that down for the eighth time, I won't. I won't because I know it won't happen. I HOPE it does, but I know it won't. Wait. Strike that. I THINK it won't. I think if I write it down and make it official, it won't happen. Plus, I'm tired of disappointing myself. Set the expectations low and the effort high, I think. That's the way to do it. So I'm not going to tell myself that this time next year I'm going to be a size 6. But I'm still going to hope I will be.

Other than that, I'm going to try to work on time management.

But first I'm going to watch TV.