I leave Austin in 3 days (holy crepe!), and though I like to tell everyone I'm running around packing, well, let's face it, I'm sitting around soaking up sun (I swear I'm not sunburned!... anymore) and warmth on my back porch, and taking tennis lessons. Tennis, you ask? Yes, I've decided to take up tennis. I figure 1) it's generally a useful sport to know, 2) stupid knee still not letting me run very far, and 3) Paris is just about the tennis-craziest city in the world (ironic, since its rather anti-exercise), so I'll fit right in and hopefully make some (french!) friends. I had my first lesson yesterday, and discovered that, though I suck, it is a most excellent stress-reliever. Whacking that ball (when I don't whiff and spin around in a circle) is unbelievably satisfying. So my plan is, after each and every attempt to aller chercher my carte de sejour (residence permit), open a bank account, or take on the french bureaucracy in any way shape or form, I shall take to the courts.
Pre-Paris, however, (until September) I'll be in The Netherlands with Rick. So if you read an entry and wonder why I keep talking about tulips, wooden shoes, windmills, etc., that's why. Ha, just kidding, the Dutch always roll their eyes when any of those three are mentioned.
