Of all the shit I have purchased since my arrival in Paris, the €20 coffee maker was probably the best. (In perhaps a bit of a contradiction, I would say that splurging on a nice duvet was probably the second best purchase.)

I have very little to report on life in Paris because I spend most of my time injecting coffee directly into my veins and staring at Word documents, or, rather, finding ways to avoid staring at Word documents. I’m now FourSquare mayor of my school’s library. (Where I continue to get my espresso on for 40 cents.)

This is kind of the way graduate school works, I know. I knew this was how it was going to be, but knowing that in a rational way is a different thing entirely from experiencing it firsthand.

I got out with two of my favorite people to go see Yelle and I kept calm with a magical recipe-experiment involving Nutella and coffee that I will share at some later date.

But if I’m being honest, I’ve been glad to have this valid excuse to hibernate. Even when I’m accomplishing absolutely nothing (see also: now) I have been terribly anti-social. I have very little desire to talk to anyone but my family, and even when I called home, it was bittersweet. My older brother’s return home today leaves me as the last member of the family overseas.

After spending my semester being obligated to adhere to a twice a week blogging schedule for the sake of a class, I have also had a hard time finding a way to make use of this space, now that I don’t have to do that any longer.

In part, I’m trying to reclaim the blog — knowing that my professor was now my most dedicated reader made me hold back and change things. I don’t quite know how to go forward from that.

Mostly, it’s that this blog has now become another social space. Since I’m trying to bury my head under that glorious duvet until it’s time to fly home, that doesn’t really motivate me. In spite of the fact that caffeine-fueled all-nighters interrupted by the occasional sleep-all-day-recovery have dominated my existence for the last couple weeks, I have had plenty to say. My drafts queue is getting out of control. I just don’t know who I’m trying to say it to.

Everything that happened with Derrik has made me hyper-aware of that too — this idea that my words should be tailored to specific people, lest they be somehow used against me.

This was never strictly for me, I suppose. It’s not a diary; it’s public. However, it was for me to say whatever I felt like saying, put it out there, and wait to see what happened. The irony is that I am more concerned about the prospect of being judged and measured by the products of this somewhat careful thought than what came before.

I’m not sure how I got off on this blogging-about-blogging tangent, because what I really meant to say is that I’m exhausted and ready to go home. Life is good here in Paris, and I can’t wait to return in January, but for now… I’m tired.

You know that moment when you see someone you know and immediately change directions, hoping that they didn’t see you? How about when after doing that, you realize that you actually like this person and you’re an asshole, but you’re mostly glad you did it? That has been me in every possible way — people I actually run into, Facebook… this blog.

I am terribly sorry if you have either been the victim of my snippy outbursts, or blatant friend-neglect while I hide in my hole and wait for the end. (Tuesday night at 10pm. 3 days, 5 and a half hours from now… not that I am maintaining a mental countdown clock or anything.)

Except I’m not actually “waiting” for the end, because seeing the time remaining written out like that has a panic-inducing effect. So I have get back to work now so that I don’t have a nervous breakdown in the next three days.