I came to France anyway, because my little freakout of "Maybe I shouldn't go" was met with "But what could you change if you stayed?" Which is true. And so I came to France.
And nothing changed.
I really don't want to talk about it.
In totally unrelated (except, well, related) news, my grandmother sent me three birthday cards. One says: "SIXTEEN." Another: "You're 4!" Another: "#1 Baby Girl." Add up the years and you get my age. Hallmark doesn't acknowledge 21-year-olds. I think they expect that we will only want a keg in celebration. Frankly, I could go for a hug.