just a-journalin'

Since I've arrived, I've been journaling constantly ... there's so much going on that there's always something new for me to process or think about or observe. For a writer, it's exciting because there's a lot of grist for the mill, a lot of new, meaty experiences to sink my teeth into. And right now all of my groupmates are searching the internet for hotel deals in Venice, which I'm hopeless at. Clearly. So here's a transcription of some of my recent journal entries.

From May 26, near midnight:
I think photographs can say so much more than my utterly incompetent words ever could. In fact, as I journal, I'm feeling extremely frustrated. The words won't express how I feel at all. So, let me try to set this small scene: it's near midnight, downstairs in the lobby/kitchen area of the Villages Hotel; the night manager has one of the glass doors open and he's talking loudly in French on the phone ... two of my classmates just came in from dinner and said they tried some bizarre mixture of liquer and beer. The outside street is quiet, but over my iPod I can still hear the clinking of tiny espresso cups from the neighboring cafe, and I can hear chatting and coughing wafting in along with a cool breeze from the open door ... a small red motor scooter revs down the road, past the red sign on the door to the hotel that says Bonjour! Entrez vous etes les bienvenus. As well as variations on that theme in German and English. My body is sore, my head is hot, I'm a mess ... but I'm also completely peaceful.