Where I began

Belle Notre Dame

Across from the Pantheon

After 30 solid days of exploration (both of the self and of the world/ Europe), I'm home. Safer than I ever thought possible. I'm tired, after a 40 hour day (oh lovely timechange) and joyous reunions with my love and vin de Bordeaux. There is (too much) to say all at once. I don't know where to begin, but it will all come out slow and sweetly. 

Much of my downtime in Europe was spent rediscovering my love for reading. The city of Prague sparked it specifically, while visiting the "old haunts" of Kundera. We found a lovely little English bookstore where I scooped a lovely copy of Identity.  Among the assistance of other novels, this book opened my eyes to things I did not see. In people I met on my trip that I noticed were characters. More so they had the potential to become fiction. 

Today (my first full day home) I began training for my new job here. 

Needless to say, anticipating the upcoming year.  Why? Philip Roth in the Ghost Writer explains it best.

"I turn sentences around. That's my life. I write a sentence and then I turn it around. Then I look at it and turn it around again."

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