I occasionally have moments where I regret the fact that I have no idea how to have friends and instead only know how to convince men to sleep with me on a regular basis so that I may be rewarded financially and socially.
This is one of those moments.
This is the first day here that it feels at all like autumn, so one of my lovers wants to take advantage of the weather and stroll the Quarter with me. One of my favorite pastimes – provided someone else is paying, of course.
…I’m so very drunk tonight.
It’s storming…again.
Probably shouldn’t work on any writing in case the power goes out.
Ack, quatorze juillet is in two days and then I’ve got trips to make and men to host and I’ve barely made any progress on this Brideshead thing…
Well, no point in making a fuss over it. Nothing new of interest to me is coming out until September so I’ve still got over a month and a half to ramble on aimlessly.
Um…just posting to say that I’m still alive – I did not expire last night from longing for France, though I did run quite the fever. Now if only this damned cough would go away…
This is one of those nights where I’ve unexpectedly gotten emotional about France.
Don’t laugh.
I seem to be coming down with a cold of some sort, because I haven’t been ill for the last month and God must have realized He was slacking. Assuming I’m not a corpse by morning (which is an assumption one should never make with me), some silly anons or something would be nice right about now.
*sniffles miserably*
Well, I used the rain as an excuse, but really it was because I was out entertaining all evening and am currently so fantastically drunk that I’m surprised I’m not dead.
I was out entertaining all afternoon and evening on the Mississippi coast (and yes, I’m well aware of the fact that Mississippi is statistically the worst US state at almost literally everything, but the coast was originally settled by the French and as such carries faint memories of how not to be absolute trash), and the ride back to New Orleans was absolutely surreal: the utter darkness of the Venetian Isles at night, lightning arcing over Bayou Sauvage and the Rigolets, and a car collision right next to us in the middle of yet another downpour.
I think it goes without saying that any rambling, video game-related or otherwise, can wait for tomorrow.
Gascon-en-exil: Gallophilic Cultural Posturing 