Oh la la mon petit pomme de terre

I miss Paris. I had a good time there in some ways, a bloody lousy time in alot of other ways, but these days my principal sentiment about the whole experience is 'if I knew then what I know now . . .' DON'T go to school there. DON'T not go to the opera because the madman you're sickly involved with has an opinion of the institution based on La Castafiore from the Tintin comics. DON'T get sickly involved with madmen, when it comes to that. DON'T trust good intentions - but appreciate them.

I think about going back, a triumphant return, with a huge paycheque, a backbone, and the new abililty I seem to have to not give a shit. Bringing my drug addict cat to eat some of the kabillions of mice that town is rotten with. I think about going to a different opera every week and seeing everybody I would love to hear at the Bataclan.

And then I think fuck it, I want to move to the sea.

I'm getting a haircut. Suggestions?