Once I deal with my zombified, post-travel, France hangover, I will be ready to start blogging my way into your hearts again. Sorry for the lack of material. I arrived in St. John’s at 1 a.m. (my body thinking it was 5:30 a.m. and still in France) to find my roommates had carved a path of party destruction in the house. After I passed out on my bed fully clothed and drooling, I was wakened by their return from George Street and someone falling down the stairs and bruising their tailbone. I  became so agitated that I could not sleep. It is now two days later, and I still cannot sleep. In fact, I still don’t know if “wakened” is actually a word, but if I don’t go to bed right this moment, the world might end.

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