Mixed Bag

When your best friend on the face of the earth proposes a 10 day trip to Paris/Spain, including the wedding of her cousin, you should probably say yes. Before four years of being broke in school in a new city, locked into tuition and work and money. Before graduation, a job, a family. You should probably say yes.

You want to walk the streets in Paris and feel the history swell in your chest. You want to sit in perfect silence in a café to hear the language all around you. A cultural ambiance. You want the nightlife, to dance with the locals into the early hours of the morning. French Discotheque. Spanish Guitar. You want to fall in love with something different. Off the wall. You want the life experience more than you want the money. You want to chase your heart's desire's over all over the straight and narrow path paved by the brain's stern logical voice.

You want a long dress. Sangria and sunglasses. Je voudrai parler Francais. Photographs. Memories. You want your biography to read that at the tender age of 22, you ran wild with Spaniards and it changed you.

I hate money.
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When did I stop being happy go lucky and start being melodramatic? I'm gonna figure it out and fix it, damnit.
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TEXTS I WAS GOING TO SEND TODAY BUT I COULDN'T BECAUSE I HIT MY TEXT LIMIT AND CANNOT SEND MORE WITHOUT BEING CHARGED:

"I think I hate peplums."

"Verona + cinnamon dolce = MY NEW LIFE FORCE."

"Oh the sweet memories! Did you give it a wave?"

"BABE DID YOU VISIT WHILE I WAS ON MY LUNCH?!"

"Uhhhh Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday morning I think? Let me double check."

"I keep thinking about that magazine thing. It could be SO SICK."