Seven days. That's all I have left in this wonderful country.  Although I can't say it really 'creeped up' on me -- I've been dreading my departure for a while now, but it really just hit me this morning on my walk to my final exam, as I thought to myself, This is one of the LAST times I will see these mountains. These mountains that were so breathtaking to me four months ago, which are now just part of my everyday life. It's crazy to think that seven days from now I will return to the states, where I won't see my friends everyday (who have become my family in every sense of the word), won't live with my host family, and will only hear people speaking english...always.  I don't know when the next time will be when I can see the beautiful alps, or eat a yaourt nature with a cup of espresso in the morning, or even have a conversation in French, but I'm not trying to think about that now.
          Profite-bien.  Profite-bien.  Profite-bien. This phrase is on repeat in my head.
          So what am I planning for my last sept jours? Picnics (LOTS of them....with tons of wine/baguettes/cheese), concert (hopefully techno/house/DUBSTEP?), speaking french (and ONLY French, no exceptions), being grateful for this wonderful experience, soaking up some sun, loving my friends, and the inevitable packing/crying/mental breakdown/blahblahblah.


ming.


Sidenote: after re-reading my blog from the last four months (Narcissisme? Peut-être. Nostalgie? Absolument.) and realized how symbolic and ironic some of these posts are in hindsight. For example, I mentioned the purchase and first wear (and afterwards, hatred and spite) of my Zara flats, which have now been loved and worn literally to pieces (they were put in the trash last week after the discovery of a hole in the bottom of one during spring break in Nice).  They had been with me this entire experience, and part of me wishes I had kept at least a piece of them, but alas, like most things in life, it is best to just save the wonderful memories and move on.