After a short liason in the south of France with my host mother, I am surprisingly happy to be returning to my makeshift French home. A little worried about the state of my art homework (30 dessins to finish in four hours tomorrow on nonexistent sketch paper), but relieved and prepared for a good night's sleep nonetheless. How my art teacher really expects me to accomplish this daring feat, I have no idea. Quite apart from the fact that I have no means with which to do the work, I have simply no motivation to do pointless sketches during my vacation that amount to nothing more than busywork on paper that costs more than it does to send an eight-pound package from Ohio to France.
Today I discovered that my growing friendship for French food is doing me no good. It's a terrible thing when you notice that though you try your hardest to avoid taking that second helping, random blubbery lumps show up where you least expect them, and you haven't the slightest clue where they came from.
Though I do believe I've just come across the reason I've become something resembling a walking, talking amoeba - a rather large package of M&Ms that just arrived in a rather unhealthy package from Dad. Oh, how I love and hate you, Father.
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