I'm going to be a monk... a very non-religious monk.

Ok. I'll admit it. I'm a little bit of a slut.

I'm not going to venture into all the sordid details, but I will admit that since having arrived in Strasbourg, I've been going on a lot of dates. You see, my significant other dropped me like a hot potato the day before my flight to France. This is a guy that I had been with for 14 months, and in whom I had dumped a lot of emotional and strategic investment. I mean, I changed my plans to leave Atlanta for grad school so I could stay with him in the area. I disassociated myself from several friends of him he did not approve. I spent countless hours in my car with my pup her in crate in the backseat commuting to spend weekends with him. And, most pathetically, I gained 40 lbs in always going out to eat with him (damn Vietnamese never gain weight no matter how many hamburgers you throw down their throats). Anyway, I had given my all for this person... and halfway down GA-316 on the way to Atlanta, he told me he didn't love me anymore. Ouch.

You see, I'm a co-dependent person. I like running errands as a couple. I like sitting around the dining table with a green tea and playing footsie. I like cleaning up the kitchen after a fish sauce-laden dinner. I like falling asleep next to someone (other than my pup). Yes, I've got issues, but I'm okay with that.

So anyway, boom. I land in France. Surrounded by people I don't know, incommunicado with my mom, without my pup and emotionally cracked from a break-up. Not wanting to spend the next 3,5 months curled up in the fœtal position in my bed, I struck out and tried to meet new people. I went on dates. Had dinner. Walked along the l'Ill. Met for a beer. Laughed. Frowned. Exchanged numbers. What was I looking for? I don't know. My brain said, "You're leaving in a few months. Don't get all crazy." My heart said, "If you spend more one night alone, you might as well defenestrate yourself, loser." So I sought companionship. I sought deep conversations and daydreams of the future.

Ô France, what an emotional beast you are!

Sadly, I discovered that most of the guys here are focused more on the chase than anything else. They'd say sweet things. Promise to meet up again. And then. Nothing. Silence. Dating is a tough game... and the French, despite their "cheese-eating surrender monkey" reputation that some hold, don't take prisoners when it comes to affairs of the heart. And I can confidently say, I've been shot through the heart... repeatedly.

So yeah, the irrational part of me wants to throw away all my things, buy a ticket to Laos and go be a Buddhist monk in some cloud-shrouded monastery in the mountains along the Mekong. Of course, I'm smart enough to realize that such a drastic move would not make me any less codependent... and the shock of being without a smartphone would likely throw me into a bout of depression that would make Edgar Allen Poe looks like Richard Simmons, but there are days when the pain is just so unbearable that I don't want to even acknowledge anyone else's existence, let alone contemplate chasing after the ghost of love.

I really hope my dog remembers me, because I'll need some cuddling on December 18th.