Ghost Dance

Of all the founding fathers, I'd say that Sitting Bull has always been my favorite.

Right after him would probably be Thomas Jefferson, though. Not because of his hip black girlfriend(s?) or the fact that he supported the French revolution, no, I'm all up on his pantaloons like white on brown rice because that man was a gentleman and a scholar and he had a well planned day.
He'd get up in the morning and start his first class: Meteorology.  He'd measure the wind direction and a bunch of other junk about the climate. If he was around today he'd be that guy online saying dumb shit like, "Rise and Shine Facebook!" because he was up at first light. He also behaved like your typical Star Wars fan when it came to Jesus.  He couldn't get down on all that water into wine ish so he did a fan cut of the Bible. 
Imagine him on twitter, he'd always be in fights with your crazy conservative uncle. (Hashtag Separation of church and state.) Not on twitter? Well, basically, if you were Facebook friends, you'd hide his feed two weeks after you accepted his request but you'd surreptitiously check in on him whenever you wanted to feel better about your station in life. 
Lol, Jefferson is such a tool.

He'd have a blog too. 
Second class, Journalism. A dabbler in all kinds of crazy crap from "horticulture" to slavery, he was always getting tons of mail. If we put that into a modern day context, we see that he'd be mostly in the comment section dispelling myths and magic. Such a hero.

He only ate two meals a day.

His teeth were not made of wood and his wife had a much cooler name than Martha.

He'd study law and foreign languages in the afternoon because he was esentually a Tenenbaum.
After all of that, I imagine he had recess, which amounted to fathering children and supporting armed revolutions and attending to other ambassadorial duties...such as they were. 
These factoids were impressed upon me when I had to do a book report on him with some bratty rich kid I tutored back in DC. We took notes side by side while his mom loaded one of the dishwashers in their kitchen. Next week she could barely hide her venom at the fact that he only got a B on the accompanying test. Thinking back, I should have maybe appealed to her egoism and feigned culpability. But as far as I could tell, the kid did his best and paying me to parent wasn't going to make him suddenly better. Perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh in calling him a brat; it's not his fault he was going to grow up playing lacross and calling his mother by her first name.

Atanyrate, I'm trying to be more like Jefferson insofar as I'm spending more time studying. I would murder everyone I lived with if I only ate two meals a day but I've started getting up before ten and have consistently worn non-pajama based pants for more than half the day. In terms of studies, I do French in the morning and Chinese in the afternoon. I recently was able to translate this phrase in public so I know I'm on the right path...
It says 'I speak Chinese.'
Um, the rest of that probably says other things, too. Who can tell under all that MS paint blur?

Of course I don't actually speak Chinese, but I'm not so afraid of the characters that I simply dismiss them as a foreign script anymore. Paso a paso... 

Seb and I bought our plane tickets back to the States. We'll be landing in Washington in early May. By George, it's time we unpacked our storage space and drive it all back to Ohio.
We lived in the Capital city for 5 years so I'm going to be pretty excited to return and do some real white people shit like grabbing BBQ at Rocklands and heading down the hill to Glover Park to watch drunk adults play softball. I'm a little pissed I'll be missing Cinco De Mayo--that shits almost as cool as Pi Day.
Pi day, pi day gotta get down on pi day.

Things are drawing to a close but we still have a bunch of doctors appointments to run our way through. A couple of paychecks to collect. A few more big meals to make, one more mega teuf and then it's au the fuck revoir, Paris.

Some people in my position might be sad to be quitting the City of Lights, and whereas it's true that I love the language, the cut of the clothes and the quality of the food, I'm not good at sticking around anywhere for very long. So instead I'm going to take as much of it with me in my suitcase and in my heart as I can. Paris was never mine, she just let me crash on her couch for a good stint. We both are starting to feel like I've overstayed my welcome and soon my visa will be up anyway. 
I've made a lot of great friends it's true, but I no longer view time and separation as permanent obstacles; I therefore don't fear leaving them. I know this sentiment is naturally acompanied by a certain naivete, for anyone of us could die at any time. I guess what it comes down to is my death will mean I cease to exist, matter or care. And as for yours, well, the best I can do is deal with that Ghost Dance when I have to. Presently, I'd rather be remembering the good times and chasing that ever elusive better things to come. So now you're free, MordecaiAller, go. C'est parti ! 

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