(Looking at a pink paint chip)
I looked on a weather Web site the other day and saw that it was 75 in Paris -- much warmer than San Diego that day. It's been a little more than a year since I went to Paris with my mom. At that time, in early March, we were lucky if it reached over 35.
My boyfriend says he wants to travel, but I'm not sure he knows what he's getting into. I don't know if he realizes what a serious addiction it is. He already has a self-admitted addiction to the playa during Burningman, but I wonder if he knows what it feels like to have visited and then spend the rest of your life pining for London, Baltimore, New York, Kiev, Amsterdam, Brussels, ah, Brussels, Boston, and Paris. He hasn't been to any of these places. I've been to all of them and more, and sometimes I wish they still existed in my imagination only. Then I wouldn't have to long for places that are really real.
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