Well, well, well.

Isn't this an interesting turn of events.

I suppose I should be more disappointed about my performance at state...but I'm not.

I suppose I should be more disappointed about my parents choosing Europe over nationals...but I'm not.

I'm kind of copecetic, frankly, and I don't know why.

I hate being copecetic.

I think I've become so absorbed in foreign affairs that I've forgotten about those closer to home.

(Honestly, I can tell you all about the Russian elections or Nicolas Sarkozy's increasingly dismal approval rating, but I still have trouble spelling my best friend's last name.)

It all starts over in two and a half months. Two and a half months, and a rebirth on the Ponte Vecchio.

That's what I'm hoping for, anyway. It sounds sappy. But I can see it happening.

I think this is my wake-up call. It's saying: hello, Anna. You can't coast forever. You'll hit something eventually.

(Figuratively and literally, if you know what happened to my preciousbaby car.)

It's saying what I've been telling myself for years: in the end, the only person that will never leave you is yourself. I've forgotten that over the past several months. I've let myself become comfortable with people I love. I've let myself fall into a pattern. I haven't considered change. It's snuck up on me, and I kind of want to punch it in the face.

But I digress.

I want to move away to southern California. I want to go to college and reinvent myself. I want to get back in touch with myself and with the rest of the world. And I really, really want to not have to wait a year to do so.

I also really, really want a pizza from Don Carmelo's and some rooibos. God, I want some rooibos.

See, I'm random. I have the attention span of a goldfish.

I want to throw myself into something completely.

And despite what I've said, I really, really never want it to end.

Here's to the 2007-8 season. To the people I've met along the way. To my freshmen. To my Francavillas. To the state championship. To Vegas nationals which I won't be attending. To the tubs (which are mine, damn you, Eric).

I will see you all next year.

And we'll kick ass, won't we?