I'm going to get a nosebleed.

Possibly tonight.

Maybe it's the weather; maybe I'm ill. But for the past day and a half, I've been on the verge of a bloody nose.

I have a macabre fascination with bloody noses. So much incandescently bright mess and it doesn't really hurt at all, only tickle. My brother gave me a bloody nose once when we were kids and kept each other in line by punching each other in the face; it's a harmless American phenomenon.

Speaking of American phenomenon, it's not long until I leave the continent for the first time. I'm terribly, terribly gauche; I don't know the language--how unpleasantly touristy of me. I dress like someone barfed up a college student. An acquaintance of mine is an au pair in Paris; I've looked with envy at her pictures, all the extremely French people with their black-on-black and the little hats--not berets, that's a stereotype--and wished that my closet was French. I think one day it will be; I think one day I'll get rid of all of my hoodies and t-shirts and jeans, invest in about three trench coats and just be chic for the rest of my life. I'm tempted to keep a pair of overalls, though, because I'm Appalachian at the core.

So, last night I had my first frozen margarita, mango flavor. It was the best slushie I've ever had--it wasn't the tequila; tequila sucks.