Femme (dans une condition) Fatale

 In the most horrific and terrible twist of fate I am bedridden with some kind of exotic illness and unable to attend Sensation White in Belgium. If anybody is even reading this I would urge that person to call up some kind of hotline on my behalf. Oh and just to add insult to injury my exquisite French phone has just envoyed me a message (say it like MASSAGE,) stating that my credit has been depleted, what with  .14 cents remaining. Mother of all ironies what have me and my phone credit been reduced to.

Anyways I literally haven’t gotten dressed in 24 hours. I have been literally sitting in bed eating crepes drenched with tears and wondering if anyone has ever felt as sorry for themselves as I currently do. Through my impossibly tangled headphones the most somber of all playlists blares. I am literally wondering as to when my next encounter with another human being will be, eagerly anticipating the site of a friendly, familiar face.

Disclaimer, my emphasis of “literally” means quite the opposite: theatrical exaggeration, self pity, and creation of drama are, when sullen, my only extracurricular activities so please, for those of you who are not aware of the full of extent of my ability to stretch the truth, please read as follows:

“exotic illness”--  “a cold of low to medium severity”,

“I haven’t gotten dressed in 24 hours”—“I haven’t applied mascara since yesterday”

“Crepes drenched with tears”—“Crepes saturated with Nutella, powdered sugar, and fuck, a slice of apple pie on the side too”

“the most somber of playlists”—contemplating whether I should pre-order the regular or Deluxe version of the new Britney album (March 29^th come sooner please) while simultaneously deciding which of the recently released singles I prefer.

The bit about human encounters- Getting ready to leave my house and go book a hotel room for an important celeb who is going to be in Aix THIS FRIDAY—DADDY T taking a break from work and hanging out with me in Provence!! Also he has agreed to have dinner with me Hannie and the ho-mo… I will have to devote an entire novel to that meal good gott in himmel. 

Regardless, my life is literally like a music video to the Dark Side of Indoor Track Meets right about now. The house is abandoned. House here roughly means une espace approximately the size of a master bathroom we don’t exactly live in any kind of luxury. Ho-mo is off cooking quiche in the Alps, while Sophie our 38 year old host sister alias SoSo (for whom our dependable, supersonic, and ever-reliable wireless internet, SoSo13, is named) is most likely painting landscapes and quietly crying herself to sleep about not being married.

This is undoubtedly one of the most depressing experiences,  so depressing in fact that the heavens have clouded over in sympathy avec moi. I can not even explain. I am attempting to drown out the sound of birds and children with Britney’s divine voice, attempting to erase the fact that there is human life outside my drawn shades and locked shutters. Lots of throat lozenges and mind-numbing Macbook activity to take my mind of the fact that everyone I know and care about is currently in Belgium raging without me. I knew this “schoolwork” would eventually contribute to the depression of my typically phenomenally functioning immune system. Jesus.

Excuse me, I’m sorry, I’m really such a lady. It’s just that there is nobody even in Aix right now and I am really rather miserable, especially what with the ciel being so nuageux right about now, I am getting sunshine deficiency. Or that might just be the sobriety speaking. JUST.KIDDING.

don’t hold it against me,

M

As an aside, to one of my closest and first friends at Tufts (Milla1), Ben, Bborn, I love you so much and I am so thankful everything is okay. I am thinking of you always and I miss you so much.