Do you ever wish you could go back in time for just five minutes? Instead of sitting in my cheapish, quickly assembled Ikea bed that is slightly wiggly, I wish I were in France. Granted, I was only there for two weeks, but I think that just makes it all the more idealized in my mind. Like a fantasy place where I had no cares in the world, just two weeks of absorbing what was around me, for future, must-escape moments like this. Some days, when I'm in Berkeley sitting on some disgusting bench watching the constant flow of people out of Sather gate and Telegraph Ave. drinking cheap coffee, I imagine that I'm sitting on some comparatively older and thus inherently less disgusting bench next to the Seine, overlooking some beautiful building and the boats sliding by in the water, while drinking cafe au lait.
This morning, I woke up desperately wishing I were surrounded by the Alps, hiking in the wildflowers all alone, listening to the different pitches of cow bells ringing miles away. I wish I had my polka-dot bag and my favorite hat, and in my polka-dot bag-- half a baguette, some brie, a bottle of Badoit, an apricot from a Swiss road side stand, a notebook, my favorite pen, and the key to my hotel room, so I could do the same thing tomorrow. No camera, no textbooks, no iPod, no Daily Cal crossword puzzle, no Trident gum, no keys to my overpriced apartment, and no cell phone. I would lay in the grass, eating my baguette and brie, soaking up the sun with my jacket zipped all the way up against the slight chill, and finally be completely relaxed.

But instead of the Alps and the Seine, today I get to enjoy the excitement of writing a take home midterm on Middle Eastern history and doing laundry.