For France. In four hours. Or actually, I'm leaving in three hours, because the bus departs at 6, so we don't want to risk missing it.
It's been a weird and possibly impossible last few weeks for me lately, for reasons I do and don't understand and I would rather just, well, not discuss. But I can say that there's been the usual crap: my roommates and their constantly loud and obnoxious habits, the country charging me the equivalent of eight dollars for a cup of coffee, the city being so dull, and so empty, the school being nothing better than AP high school level.
But the school can sit here and get nothing done, and my roommates can scream their heads off, and the sirens can keep going on and on in Norwich all night, and I'll be in Paris. And Munich. And Vienna. And Provence. And Mont St Michel. So it's good by me.
Me:
Yes, that is what I look like. My name is Meg, and I write things. I am trying to write many things, in fact. One is a novel, the other is a collection of short stories, and there are a few more projects thrown in there for good measure. I'll probably talk about them here. I'll also talk a lot about books, quite a bit about movies, and everything else is just a healthy dose of whatever comes to mind. If you want to know that I am a real person, I am, of course, on Facebook.
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