C'est la Vie

My molars have probably been reduced to half their size these past three months. I am a living mortar and pestle. Study in France, they said. You'll nibble at baguettes as you bike around the Eiffel Tower, a small mountain of croissants hidden in your beret, they said.

So far, my journey to the land of cheese, love, and ship-hair has not been so ideal. In addition to school registration and securing housing, I am in the midst of preparing paperwork for my visa.

If I ever get to be a tyrant or despot (a reasonable goal, I think), I will punish my enemies with forms.

Thou hast been sentenced to ten years

Fillingeth out forms

Thou shalt not maketh e'en one single mistake 

Thou shalt not createth e'en one unclear letter or number

Forsooth! If thou dost, thou shalt filleth out four of the same forms in its stead.

It's not that my fingers have cramped. It's not that my eyes are strained reading the fine print. It's that I always write my name on the line that says, "Name," then look down to the next line.

FIRST NAME

Every. Single. Time. 

C'est la Vie