vrac is crack

Marion left a box of white chocolate with coconut chips on my desk with a note that reads, "thanks for all, my roomy! ps. your mumy has called, not on your MOBILE!  Call her later.  Love, xxmarion."  

I had a piece of the chocolate and it was good.  Not my favorite, but good.  Did you know white chocolate is not really chocolate?  Ask Salma, she can give you the details.

I just checked my email.  GMU Persian Club sent me three of the same email, and then a correction.  Weird.  

My room is silent.  I don't know how much I like it.  For the last week or so I've constantly had people in my house, crashing, or just chilling out.  Sometimes it bothered me.  Especially late at night when I wanted to go to bed.  But other times I liked the feeling of being a part of something.  Having friends who were always around.  Being close to people.  Laughing constantly.  I like laughing.  Laughing feels good. 

Should I go to sleep?  Probably.  I have school tomorrow.  But the thought of having no one to say good night to....  wow.  Did I actually enjoy having roommates?  I wrote in my journal a couple days ago that I didn't know if I could handle having roommates for the long run--that when those petite idiosyncrasies are revealed, all hell breaks loose.  But it seems like I prefer having people stay with me than actually staying in my room by myself, pondering what the weird smell coming from my chauffage actually is and whether its unhealthy.  

If Marion and Yasna (my second roommate) were here right now, I'd probably ask them if there's any truth to the way the main character behaved in "He's Just Not That Into You," and then secretly think that the obvious answer is of course, "yes," but they would say, "Oh, I don't know, its definitely exaggerated."  But they would be thinking, "We do those things all the time..."  Which makes me sad, because I was genuinely embarrassed for that girl.  For all of them. 

But since they're not here, I have to result to writing these questions out on this blog, thus examining the answers for myself.  

This scares me.  What if I've turned into one of those people who hates being by herself?  No, I totally havent.  You know how I know?  This is how I know: today I decided to walk from school to the American Library of Paris, and I was genuinely having a good time taking in the city.  So.  I can be by myself.  I just.  I like friends.  OK I LIKE FRIENDS.  

Also, when I read James Joyce, I feel a level of comfort that I have never felt before.  I'm reading, "Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man," and I've grown pretty obsessed with it.  

I love you a lot, and dont you forget it.