Let les cauchemars begin

Well, it's official: the nightmares have begun.  For the past few weeks I've been having strange cauchemars ([coh-sh-mahr]: nightmares) about leaving home and the horror that my sleeping mind seems to believe France will be.  In these sweat-inducing REMs teachers ignore me, students taunt me, or I'm stranded on some country road in France homeless and penniless.  I'd be lying if I said that these dreams don't leave me with chills and a potential heart attack.  Why can't I just sleep as soundly as my dogs? 

A lesser person might feel like she's either having a mental breakdown, or else on the fast track to disaster... luckily, I feel like I've been through this before.

I remember before leaving for England I would have the same terrible night terrors, such as I'd miss my plane and end up living the rest of my life stuck inside a bathroom stall at the airport, among other things.  Let's just say that dream never actaully came true, so I'm cautiosly optimistic that this round of frights won't either... croisons les doigts ([kraw-son lay dwoit]: fingers crossed)!

Of course... there's always the chance that I arrive in France only to find that that the whole experience is a cauchemar in a much more real way than my dreams.  I can't help but let the fear of being miserable and lonely drift in and out every now and then.  I loved Bristol, made great friends, got good grades.  What are the chances that lightening will strike twice?  I know all I can do is wait and find out, so in the meantime I just try not to think.  Period.  Surprisingly much easier to do than I thought it would be.  After all, uncertainty is supposed to be the spice of life or some crap like that.  I hope it is, anyway, because I leave in seven days and I still don't have aucune idée ([oh-koon ee-day]: any idea) what I'm getting myself into, nevermind even a travel book on France.  I should probably look into that...