The distance to here.

A year ago, I was not here.
Not here in DC, atanyrate. Taken as a point of reference, let us say that on the day that Michael Jackson died, it was about four AM on the same day I had landed in Paris. Meaning I had been in Europe, most notably Spain for 8 days preceding that flight. That would put me at this time last year in Lyon or perhaps on my way to la vieille valette, Robiac. Or, in point of fact--perhaps already there.  But although I  kept a highly detailed journal at the time and made one or two potiential posts full of hot links  and dread me nots, when I had the coins or the leisure, I couldn't really stand to think that the scrolling system put the first posts on the bottom and the newest post on top. The reader wouldn't know why I was where I was in my journy unless they scrolled down and started again!
Yeah, I know, it's the way it's always been for blogs and yeah, I know a truly clever girl would have no problem reversing the poles of such an arbitrary system. But my mind had it that I should wait until my adventure was over and then copy the pages from my journal. I barely had time to write in it, let alone be all up onz the puter writing it again for youz.
So that idea  basically lead me to here, where I flip through it sometimes and go, hmm, I can't really read this anymore...I should have posted it when I still remembered what it said...

But alas, I did not. And so you were all left with that wicked long post about my sad happenings in Madrid. I would take it down, but I sort of like it. I wish I knew how to use semicolons all good like; but an excerpt I can share:

No one ever said that I know how to plan. With me it's little more than romance and funds.  I am on a train to Bordeaux. Apparently I was expected to arrive hier. Left some people waiting for me at the gare. I couch surfed last night in  Paris. I note that almost no one bothers speaking French with me. I shouldn't really complain. Instead of saying, "I'm finished, it was good." to a bartender I said, "I'm finished. I was good."  I said well, bein not even good, bon. He gave me an odd smile and said, "Thank you." in English. I said,  s'il vous plaît to a guy my age and he took it as a mistake. Which I guess it was, its like if you call a young checkout girl, mame. But he was selling me a ticket, so I mean..
ah, whatever. I'm listening to Goblin. Sort of this epic metal group. There are no words but it's a live show and I'm pretty sure they're Italian.
Its odd to take this road by train. I flew over this terrain last night. The Paris underground isn't too hard. But what Madrid lacks in moisture it makes up for in simplicity. Oh if you could hear this band right now.

                The     W i n d m i l l s        are      so       b  e  a  u  t  i  f  u  l.

So yeah, there you have it. I'll think of other things to say. Some of them may be worth your time to read. If you dig my blog link me. I read almost all of my news and happenings on the puter so if you want to link up or think I should read yers, let me know.

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