Do-over. Mulligan. Whatever you call it, I want one for the day where I decided (and I use the term loosely) that I would just go to France and do a PhD. I'm jack of this, and ready to come home. In an email I sent to my Mum I said it was for work reasons, not for lifestyle reasons, but that's crap. I can only be miserable for so long. I'm the sort of person whose inner monologue is too active to tolerate depression for very long, and I spent much of Sunday torturing myself. This was after spending Saturday getting fleeced by local retailers, in particular a real estate agent who took me for more than half the contents of my wallet. I am slow in comprehending and quick with my wallet, and its a poisonous duet when you don't speak the language. A couple of bright spots - going to see a swimming meet last night, and my french lessons again today - have done little to dry my very dampened enthusiasm for continuing here.