|amy. hannah. katie.|
I tend to over dramatize things… maybe a little. You hear that mom, yes. I’m admitting it. I’m a self-diagnosed dramatic erratic. Better yet, I’m a classic woman. And the problem is that, until recently, the majority of my friends have been male. So what happens is this: where most girls talk it out with their girlfriends and over-analyze every excruciating detail of the situation, I spend ten to eleven hours at a restaurant every day, and second-guess every element of a person’s intentions and a trivially awkward situation. Solo. Or better yet, I’m told to not worry about it, and play Smash Bros. instead.
No bueno for moi.
I’m beginning to realize that talking to women is a cathartic process, and that I’ve really been depriving myself of female company because I figured I’m too weird to hang out with girls.
Besides the initial bout of culture stress, Paris has been good for me for a lot of reasons. I was sitting at a cafe this morning with my baguette, my tiny jams, and orange juice, and had some of the best conversation with two girls from class that I have had in a long time. I have met some of the smartest, funniest, down to earth, and weirdest girls I’ve ever known. Awesome, and so cool.
I know this is a post that isn’t relevant to Paris, but really, it actually is. Paris has drawn me out of my comfort zone in more ways than one. I can now order food without fear, I have been self-navigating an entire city, and I’ve made new girl friends. Cliche? Yes, of course. But I had to have one post about something like this, right? Plus, mommy has been haranguing me for pictures of my new friends.
Today made me both happy and sad. I wished I had met the girls from this trip sooner rather than later. But overall I’m in a good place, because I’m happy I met them now rather than not at all.