Photos from the spring ball put on by the study abroad program.




There was a box for writing love letters. I wrote one in awful handwriting befitting my awful Russian to the Photographer in the Blue Shirt who had been hired to help photograph the ball. Several weeks later we got to see the photos of the ball, and I was severely disappointed. Not a lick of talent in the kid, apparently.




Speaking of a lack of talent, sometimes I wish I'd take this shit more seriously. Why didn't I close the window and tell the girl in the background to move? What exactly am I trying to accomplish here?







So in preparation for the ball, we got put in charge of making the invitations all old and parchmenty-looking, which we did with some tea, some fire, the over-sweet stale cookies that were basically a permanent fixture on this host family's kitchen table, a healthy lack of enthusiasm, and some pretty ribbons.




Towards the end of the year we all got pretty close, and as we learned the boundaries (or lack thereof) of our host parents, socialization just kind of devolved into the one inexpensive thing we could do with the limited privacy and space we had: hanging out in one another's beds. This one's mine, and it's a good thing it was relatively large because it took up most of the space in my room.

Do you see the chair? Do you see that it's held together with twine? That twine lasted me six good months, I think.




Looking at this now I realize I slept with that saint above my head for the whole school year.