I was feeling kind of homesick for the last couple of days--as most of you could probably tell if I talked to you. I don't know, the fifth week, it just seems like forever since I've seen you all. This is usually what they call the "slump" of the program, but that's not really true for me. I love it here, and i truly love the program. I just miss people.
You know there are some days that you talk to people, but it just makes you miss them more? That was yesterday for me. I talked to Rachel, Emma, and my mom, and it just made me miss everyone more. Last night I was REALLY REALLY homesick.
Today I came to class with my computer, expecting to have somewhat of the same experience when I called Rachel. But contrary (luckily) to my former belief, we talked for over an hour and a half, and I feel so much better. I don't know why it changes like that from one day to the next, but really, i feel so much better now.
Just wanted to say. =)
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
park writing III - mushy but worth reading, i think
Same park, different day. It’s beautiful today, maybe 25°C, and very little Mistral. The fountain makes a bubbling noise as it flows, and children laugh as they run away from their parents. There’s a little girl playing near the fountain, obviously considering jumping in. Her mother catches up with her just in time and dissuades her, holding the back of the little shirt so she stays still. The little girl thinks this new game is even better; she forgets all about the fountain. She leans forward and her mother pulls her back. Back and forth, back and forth. I find myself watching, and before long I notice that I’m tense—if she falls, she’ll bust her nose on the fountain bottom! Every time the mother catches her it’s a barely catch, and my breath gasps on each one. But I also notice that the mother and daughter are both laughing by now, and neither of them look the least bit worried.
This reminds me of my dad. When I was little, he had a game that was one of my favorites—Trapdoor. Every time I dropped through his arms, I would shriek and laugh, but not out of fear. I realize now that I trusted him implicitly, and I knew he wouldn’t drop me. I was right to place my trust in him I think…he never did drop me. Now, give him a sparkler, and you never know…=). It makes me smile, because I always thought I had “trust issues.” But as I think of my dad, I feel—no, I know—that I would still, even today, trust him to hold the back of my shirt. I would, I do, trust him to catch me when the button is pushed and the trapdoors fall open.
The same goes for my mom, Alan, and Rachel. Honestly, I hesitated on that last one. Would I really? I paused on that. Would I really trust a friend, to whom I have no relation, to catch me if I fell? Sure we say we’re best friends, but what does that really mean? Would I trust her with…well, everything? I found that a voice answered me almost immediately. Yes. Absolutely, yes. I trust my instincts, so I question it no further.
The wind on my face diverts my thoughts. Guess I took a short detour there. I look over. The mother and the daughter are gone.
Now a boy and a girl—probably 8 & 10, most likely brother and sister—take their place. Their parents are nowhere to be seen, so they pop off their shoes and stick their feet in the water. I can’t believe my eyes as I’m seeing this—it just seems too picturesque—but they sit there, feet in the fountain, and the little boy grabs his older sister’s hand. She laughs and brings their joined hands to eye level. Seemingly telepathically, they know what they want to do. 1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war…
This makes me think, of course, of my brother. The number of times he entertained me—on long car rides, when I wasn’t sleepy, or in the later years when I simply couldn’t sleep—astounds me. Bear Olympics (which later became Animal Olympics so as to include some non-bear species), basket-ball with plastic cups hung in the backseat of the car, or just singing with me when I wanted to sing. What impresses me most is not what he did when we were younger—although I must say he was the best big brother I can imagine—but what he does now. In the last few years, especially my first years of high school, those were not particularly good times for me. Alan wasn’t home, and I didn’t really have anybody to talk to. But I knew that I could call him whenever I needed him, and I did. I only had to do it once or twice, but he was always there. He dropped what he was doing to talk to me. He’s a very intuitive person (even more so than me), and he could tell when I needed to talk or when I simply wanted to talk. There’s a big difference, and I think he always picked up on that. He’s incredible. Alan, I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you, but…actually no, I’m not. It’s hard to do, so I’ll take pride in it. =)
*To Emma—you had it right when you called him an amazing person, but I’m not sure the compliment has been reciprocated. Just for the record, I can’t wait to call you sister. He hung onto you, and somehow I think I knew he would. He may be kind of a jackass sometimes, but my brother is not a stupid person. The older we get, the more I get to know the man my brother turned out to be, the more I want to be like him when I grow up.
The boy and the girl are gone now, too. Apparently I’m not being very observant today. Or maybe I’m just being too introspective to see anything outside of myself. Taking stock of your thoughts is more tiring than you’d think.
I miss you all, and I’m excited to see you all in a couple of months—my family, and those of you who aren’t technically family but you may as well be (or those who soon will be!).
I guess my advice for this park-writing session is to take stock sometimes. Of your friends, your family, your emotions. It’s not always easy, but I guarantee you’ll learn something new about yourself.
This reminds me of my dad. When I was little, he had a game that was one of my favorites—Trapdoor. Every time I dropped through his arms, I would shriek and laugh, but not out of fear. I realize now that I trusted him implicitly, and I knew he wouldn’t drop me. I was right to place my trust in him I think…he never did drop me. Now, give him a sparkler, and you never know…=). It makes me smile, because I always thought I had “trust issues.” But as I think of my dad, I feel—no, I know—that I would still, even today, trust him to hold the back of my shirt. I would, I do, trust him to catch me when the button is pushed and the trapdoors fall open.
The same goes for my mom, Alan, and Rachel. Honestly, I hesitated on that last one. Would I really? I paused on that. Would I really trust a friend, to whom I have no relation, to catch me if I fell? Sure we say we’re best friends, but what does that really mean? Would I trust her with…well, everything? I found that a voice answered me almost immediately. Yes. Absolutely, yes. I trust my instincts, so I question it no further.
The wind on my face diverts my thoughts. Guess I took a short detour there. I look over. The mother and the daughter are gone.
Now a boy and a girl—probably 8 & 10, most likely brother and sister—take their place. Their parents are nowhere to be seen, so they pop off their shoes and stick their feet in the water. I can’t believe my eyes as I’m seeing this—it just seems too picturesque—but they sit there, feet in the fountain, and the little boy grabs his older sister’s hand. She laughs and brings their joined hands to eye level. Seemingly telepathically, they know what they want to do. 1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war…
This makes me think, of course, of my brother. The number of times he entertained me—on long car rides, when I wasn’t sleepy, or in the later years when I simply couldn’t sleep—astounds me. Bear Olympics (which later became Animal Olympics so as to include some non-bear species), basket-ball with plastic cups hung in the backseat of the car, or just singing with me when I wanted to sing. What impresses me most is not what he did when we were younger—although I must say he was the best big brother I can imagine—but what he does now. In the last few years, especially my first years of high school, those were not particularly good times for me. Alan wasn’t home, and I didn’t really have anybody to talk to. But I knew that I could call him whenever I needed him, and I did. I only had to do it once or twice, but he was always there. He dropped what he was doing to talk to me. He’s a very intuitive person (even more so than me), and he could tell when I needed to talk or when I simply wanted to talk. There’s a big difference, and I think he always picked up on that. He’s incredible. Alan, I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you, but…actually no, I’m not. It’s hard to do, so I’ll take pride in it. =)
*To Emma—you had it right when you called him an amazing person, but I’m not sure the compliment has been reciprocated. Just for the record, I can’t wait to call you sister. He hung onto you, and somehow I think I knew he would. He may be kind of a jackass sometimes, but my brother is not a stupid person. The older we get, the more I get to know the man my brother turned out to be, the more I want to be like him when I grow up.
The boy and the girl are gone now, too. Apparently I’m not being very observant today. Or maybe I’m just being too introspective to see anything outside of myself. Taking stock of your thoughts is more tiring than you’d think.
I miss you all, and I’m excited to see you all in a couple of months—my family, and those of you who aren’t technically family but you may as well be (or those who soon will be!).
I guess my advice for this park-writing session is to take stock sometimes. Of your friends, your family, your emotions. It’s not always easy, but I guarantee you’ll learn something new about yourself.
Friday, April 25, 2008
some pictures
It was gorgeous yesterday, so I took some pictures of just everyday things.
The view from my parent's hotel:
My parent's hotel:
The view from my parent's hotel:
My parent's hotel:
This is actually a pool...looks kind of olympic size, huh?
I can't figure out this sign...at first I thought it was a fire hydrant, but still...can't figure it out:
The view from the front of my house:
I'll be back on Monday to talk to some of you!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Venice, anyone?
So I think I'm going to Venice. We just found out that we have a five-day weekend, and i think Grace and I are just gunna do it and go to Venice. I'm not quite positive yet, and i'm looking for train/plane tickets, and i'll keep you updated.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
pictures
hey, check out these pictures, for those of you who can't or won't get on facebook!! haha
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2219976&l=a954e&id=12320038
there you go!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2219976&l=a954e&id=12320038
there you go!
Monday, April 21, 2008
Park Writing II
People-watching should be a sport. Sitting in the park, under the tress, shielded from the worst of the rain. The people here hate rain, so it’s great to go walking on the sidewalks of Provence in the rain. You’re by yourself—plenty of time to think, plenty of solitude. It’s great if you want to be alone.
If you want to people-watch, however, you go to the park. Even in the rain, there are people at the park. Moms with their children, men with their wives (or mistresses), generations of women sitting and chatting under their colorful umbrellas. There are only a certain number of benches protected by the trees, and they go fast. I make sure to snag one before they’re all gone.
I watch people pass, so European-chic in their scarves and long belted coats. I stand out as an American just by sight, but I don’t know that this is necessarily a bad thing.
I think the first thing that gives me away is that I look decidedly anti-social sitting by myself in the corner of the park (under a tree), listening to an mp3 player. Contrary to popular belief, people here are very kind. They like talking, and I haven’t met one person who wasn’t fascinated by the fact that I’m an American college student. They ask questions, and a lot of them want to practice their English. I must’ve heard the question, “Est-ce que je peux parler anglais avec vous?” a million times. They want to speak English, and although it was annoying at first—I wanted to speak French, they wanted to speak English—it’s really not so bad now. I speak French every day, all the time here, it’s kind of nice meeting a European who wants to practice their language skills just like you do.
The second thing that makes me an obvious American is my accent. As soon as I open my mouth, even if my French is parfait, they know, immediately, that I’m an American. It’s kind of like if someone lives in Georgia—southern Georgia—their entire life, they’re going to have an accent. If they went to New York and ordered a pizza, they waiter would know they weren’t New Yorkers. It’s not really a bad thing, although at first it was disheartening. As first I thought it was my level of language that gave me away. My host mom assured me this was not the case—just my accent, and I’m honestly fine with that. Some people even think I’m québécoise, which I find to be hilariously awesome. I didn’t expect to fit in exactly, and I didn’t believe I would be able to adopt a perfect French accent in a month. Some people did, I think, and it will probably take them awhile to get over the fact that while they’re here, they are foreigners. They won’t fit in. Honestly, I kind of like standing out. It makes me different.
It seems that the word “different” is a running theme in my park writings. I don’t know why, but I kind of like it. I really think I’m growing a lot into who I am and who I’m going to be, and I think I’m going to like her. All I can say is, “Different but better, ma chèrie.” =)
I’ve written a lot here. I’m on page 68 of the Harper book (whose working title now is “Wait”), and I really think I’ll be able to finish it by June. June 8th, to be exact. I really think I can do it.
The Garden State soundtrack is my new best friend. I’ve gone through two or three stages of music since I’ve been here (not having all my music instantly at my disposal is hard!): First it was Counting Crows (specifically a couple of songs that I now know entirely by memory), then it was A Fine Frenzy, because their stuff is just so chill and I could sing along. Now, as I sit in the park, I’m listening to the Garden State soundtrack, because it’s just…perfect. It fits my mood; content, a little nostalgic, maybe, but happy. I have no idea where I’m going, but I know where I’ve been. Seems to kind of fit the theme of the movie, and it definitely fits the music.
For some reason, Hairspray won’t work on my computer. All my other movies play just great (on my pirated software because I’m an idiot and I accidentally deleted my codec in Québec), but Hairspray won’t play. It really frustrated me last night. Yesterday (Thursday) was a particularly bad day, mostly because I was really sick. But I wanted to watch Hairspray last night, and it wouldn’t work. I wanted something to lift my mood, someone I could drool at (don’t worry about it) and a good message. I messed with it for over an hour, and I could not figure out what in the hell was wrong with it. I still don’t know. It works on Grace’s computer, but it won’t work on mine.
“Frustrated” is a massive understatement. I’m over it now, but man, at the time, I was looking to kill the stupid DVD. But then I knew it would never work again, and I figured that would be counter-productive. So I put it away and watched Garden State instead. Not the same, but still good.
Okay, my hand is getting tired. I’m writing this on Friday afternoon, and I’ll probably type it up sometime this weekend and post it on Monday.
Hopefully I’ll talk to some of you between now and then.
If you want to people-watch, however, you go to the park. Even in the rain, there are people at the park. Moms with their children, men with their wives (or mistresses), generations of women sitting and chatting under their colorful umbrellas. There are only a certain number of benches protected by the trees, and they go fast. I make sure to snag one before they’re all gone.
I watch people pass, so European-chic in their scarves and long belted coats. I stand out as an American just by sight, but I don’t know that this is necessarily a bad thing.
I think the first thing that gives me away is that I look decidedly anti-social sitting by myself in the corner of the park (under a tree), listening to an mp3 player. Contrary to popular belief, people here are very kind. They like talking, and I haven’t met one person who wasn’t fascinated by the fact that I’m an American college student. They ask questions, and a lot of them want to practice their English. I must’ve heard the question, “Est-ce que je peux parler anglais avec vous?” a million times. They want to speak English, and although it was annoying at first—I wanted to speak French, they wanted to speak English—it’s really not so bad now. I speak French every day, all the time here, it’s kind of nice meeting a European who wants to practice their language skills just like you do.
The second thing that makes me an obvious American is my accent. As soon as I open my mouth, even if my French is parfait, they know, immediately, that I’m an American. It’s kind of like if someone lives in Georgia—southern Georgia—their entire life, they’re going to have an accent. If they went to New York and ordered a pizza, they waiter would know they weren’t New Yorkers. It’s not really a bad thing, although at first it was disheartening. As first I thought it was my level of language that gave me away. My host mom assured me this was not the case—just my accent, and I’m honestly fine with that. Some people even think I’m québécoise, which I find to be hilariously awesome. I didn’t expect to fit in exactly, and I didn’t believe I would be able to adopt a perfect French accent in a month. Some people did, I think, and it will probably take them awhile to get over the fact that while they’re here, they are foreigners. They won’t fit in. Honestly, I kind of like standing out. It makes me different.
It seems that the word “different” is a running theme in my park writings. I don’t know why, but I kind of like it. I really think I’m growing a lot into who I am and who I’m going to be, and I think I’m going to like her. All I can say is, “Different but better, ma chèrie.” =)
I’ve written a lot here. I’m on page 68 of the Harper book (whose working title now is “Wait”), and I really think I’ll be able to finish it by June. June 8th, to be exact. I really think I can do it.
The Garden State soundtrack is my new best friend. I’ve gone through two or three stages of music since I’ve been here (not having all my music instantly at my disposal is hard!): First it was Counting Crows (specifically a couple of songs that I now know entirely by memory), then it was A Fine Frenzy, because their stuff is just so chill and I could sing along. Now, as I sit in the park, I’m listening to the Garden State soundtrack, because it’s just…perfect. It fits my mood; content, a little nostalgic, maybe, but happy. I have no idea where I’m going, but I know where I’ve been. Seems to kind of fit the theme of the movie, and it definitely fits the music.
For some reason, Hairspray won’t work on my computer. All my other movies play just great (on my pirated software because I’m an idiot and I accidentally deleted my codec in Québec), but Hairspray won’t play. It really frustrated me last night. Yesterday (Thursday) was a particularly bad day, mostly because I was really sick. But I wanted to watch Hairspray last night, and it wouldn’t work. I wanted something to lift my mood, someone I could drool at (don’t worry about it) and a good message. I messed with it for over an hour, and I could not figure out what in the hell was wrong with it. I still don’t know. It works on Grace’s computer, but it won’t work on mine.
“Frustrated” is a massive understatement. I’m over it now, but man, at the time, I was looking to kill the stupid DVD. But then I knew it would never work again, and I figured that would be counter-productive. So I put it away and watched Garden State instead. Not the same, but still good.
Okay, my hand is getting tired. I’m writing this on Friday afternoon, and I’ll probably type it up sometime this weekend and post it on Monday.
Hopefully I’ll talk to some of you between now and then.
Park Writing I
Writing. Just by itself, letting it come from my head to my fingers and into life. I believe in that. Writing for the sake of writing, the act therapeutic and fun at the same time. Just let words flow from your mind into the keyboard, just let them come. Ignore the software telling you that your sentence is a fragment. Write in fragments. Ignore the rules, use poetic license. Make up new words. Whatever you want to talk about, it’s important to someone, somewhere, and your computer always cares.
The computer, the piece of paper and pencil, they’re always there to take your troubles, to take the weight of the world onto their face. They won’t reject you, assuming your computer doesn’t break down and that on a sunny day the wind won’t blow your paper away. They’re always there to catch a moment which even a camera wouldn’t succeed to describe.
Sitting outside, people-watching. See a little kid hop up onto a bench, and with his Daddy’s help, he walks the edge. He’s laughing, throwing his head back, his curly brown hair blowing in the Mistral, and he’s smiling at the sky. He holds his dad’s hand tighter as they reach the end of the wood—he doesn’t quite know where to go from here. The little boy suddenly makes a decision, and he grasps onto his dad’s hand firmly. His dad braces himself to make sure he can support his son’s weight. Suddenly, the little boy launches himself off the bench, with a shriek only a child could create. He flies through the air, the Mistral in his face and the sun in his eyes. He lands solidly on two feet. Proud of himself, he and his dad walk on down the path, hand in hand.
That probably took less than five seconds, but it got me thinking.
Why can’t we be more like that little boy? When the end of something is coming near, why do we all have to battle the desire to run the other way? We know that someone will be on the other side of the bench holding our hand, but for some reason we can’t follow in that little boy’s footsteps. We can’t jump. We can’t make ourselves forget about everything else and leap. Just a little leap—whatever it changes, whatever it doesn’t, none of that matters. What matters is the jump itself. The moment when your shoes leave the pavement, to make that next important step. That’s the moment that scares us to death, that we might be making some irrevocable mistake, and that we’ll lose something we’ll never going to be able to get back.
To pacify ourselves, we tell ourselves that it won’t be different. It’s not that big of a step. We’ll be able to undo our misstep if something goes wrong, and everything will go back to normal.
What we don’t realize is how little it takes for a person to change. As I’m sitting here, writing this, I’m changing. Everyone is constantly shifting in their skin, trying to find the most comfortable fit. People change from week to week, day to day, minute to minute. We don’t realize this, so we overreact when there is something that could cause a shift in persons or personalities. We just need to realize that after we take the step—
Yes. You will be different.
Yes. You’re losing something that you’ll never get back.
No. You won’t be the same person you were before, and neither will they.
But why do we always assume these are bad things? Since when has “different” been pejorative?
I’ll leave you to think on this:
Leap. Do it. Live, jump over the edge. Do it like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. I guarantee you you’ll accomplish something you never thought possible.
It’ll be different.
The computer, the piece of paper and pencil, they’re always there to take your troubles, to take the weight of the world onto their face. They won’t reject you, assuming your computer doesn’t break down and that on a sunny day the wind won’t blow your paper away. They’re always there to catch a moment which even a camera wouldn’t succeed to describe.
Sitting outside, people-watching. See a little kid hop up onto a bench, and with his Daddy’s help, he walks the edge. He’s laughing, throwing his head back, his curly brown hair blowing in the Mistral, and he’s smiling at the sky. He holds his dad’s hand tighter as they reach the end of the wood—he doesn’t quite know where to go from here. The little boy suddenly makes a decision, and he grasps onto his dad’s hand firmly. His dad braces himself to make sure he can support his son’s weight. Suddenly, the little boy launches himself off the bench, with a shriek only a child could create. He flies through the air, the Mistral in his face and the sun in his eyes. He lands solidly on two feet. Proud of himself, he and his dad walk on down the path, hand in hand.
That probably took less than five seconds, but it got me thinking.
Why can’t we be more like that little boy? When the end of something is coming near, why do we all have to battle the desire to run the other way? We know that someone will be on the other side of the bench holding our hand, but for some reason we can’t follow in that little boy’s footsteps. We can’t jump. We can’t make ourselves forget about everything else and leap. Just a little leap—whatever it changes, whatever it doesn’t, none of that matters. What matters is the jump itself. The moment when your shoes leave the pavement, to make that next important step. That’s the moment that scares us to death, that we might be making some irrevocable mistake, and that we’ll lose something we’ll never going to be able to get back.
To pacify ourselves, we tell ourselves that it won’t be different. It’s not that big of a step. We’ll be able to undo our misstep if something goes wrong, and everything will go back to normal.
What we don’t realize is how little it takes for a person to change. As I’m sitting here, writing this, I’m changing. Everyone is constantly shifting in their skin, trying to find the most comfortable fit. People change from week to week, day to day, minute to minute. We don’t realize this, so we overreact when there is something that could cause a shift in persons or personalities. We just need to realize that after we take the step—
Yes. You will be different.
Yes. You’re losing something that you’ll never get back.
No. You won’t be the same person you were before, and neither will they.
But why do we always assume these are bad things? Since when has “different” been pejorative?
I’ll leave you to think on this:
Leap. Do it. Live, jump over the edge. Do it like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. I guarantee you you’ll accomplish something you never thought possible.
It’ll be different.
Monday, April 14, 2008
week three
It's the beginning of week three in Provence, and I really do love it here. I'm doing well with the language and the people, although the keyboards are still kicking my ass, much to rachel's apparent delight.
I'm going to get a hotel room for my parents tonight or tomorow, and that's exciting.
it's annoying that we aren't at the school this week. France is en vacances right now, so the school is closed. we're at this sketchy little building that doesn't have internet, so i'm stuck using the internet café for the next couple of days.
I don't really have that much to say, so yeah. i might try to call some of you later in the week.
à bientôt
I'm going to get a hotel room for my parents tonight or tomorow, and that's exciting.
it's annoying that we aren't at the school this week. France is en vacances right now, so the school is closed. we're at this sketchy little building that doesn't have internet, so i'm stuck using the internet café for the next couple of days.
I don't really have that much to say, so yeah. i might try to call some of you later in the week.
à bientôt
Friday, April 11, 2008
haha, in your face
i bought rachel a present, and she can't see it until june....
HA
oh, french keyboards. the bane of my existence. i'll have to take a picture of one so y'all can see how screwed up they really are. the letters are all in the wrong place, and you have to press the shift bar to get the numbers and the periods. boo
hello to all, and everything's going well. i love it here, but everything is so expensive!
not because it's actually expensive, but because the £ is kicking the $'s ass.
à bientôt!
me
HA
oh, french keyboards. the bane of my existence. i'll have to take a picture of one so y'all can see how screwed up they really are. the letters are all in the wrong place, and you have to press the shift bar to get the numbers and the periods. boo
hello to all, and everything's going well. i love it here, but everything is so expensive!
not because it's actually expensive, but because the £ is kicking the $'s ass.
à bientôt!
me
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Bored? In France? C'est Impossible!
Oh, but it's possible. That was me, last night, at midnight our time. Soooooo bored. Kind of tired, more just really, really bored. So I played with my (my dad's) camera, and with the flash, and stuff, and came out with some pretty cool pics. Following are some of the more artistic bebes of this project:
sign language!! :
love this one:
and my personal favorite:
so there you go. For those like-insomniacs out there, here's something to keep you busy late at night.
143!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
I Need a Plane Ride
Today sucks.
I'm homesick, probably mostly because I didn't sleep but about three hours last night.
Last night sucked.
I'm getting back into my "normal"--and AWFUL sleep schedule of a couple hours a night. I thought it was getting better--my mind was so exhausted from speaking French all the time, I wasn't having to take my sleep meds. I haven't taken them since I got here.
Apparently now that my mind is accustomed to the fact that it's speaking French all the time, my sleep schedule is back to normal. I went to bed at midnight last night, like I have been, and I laid there, awake, thinking and staring at the ceiling until 4am. I got up at 7 to be down in the kitchen by 8. This is the second night I've done this, and I don't want it to become a habit again.
My body runs just fine on three hours of sleep, but my mind doesn't work the same. I can think just fine--all the normal functions are there, and they work. But everything is enhanced, and not in a particularly good way; today I had an anxiety attack in class (random, not set off by anything), and I miss Rachel so much it hurts. The fact that I couldn't talk to her while it was happening was so hard. Even when I'm home, and it's 2am---if I have one, I call her. I cry. I talk. I scream if I want to.
But I couldn't. I could have left class and stood out in the hallway or went to the bathroom to ride it out, but I just sat there. I would rather have something to distract me than riding it out all by myself in a quiet room.
Talk about depressing.
So let it suffice to say I'm having a hard time today. I know these days will come and go, and I hope this one goes really fast. I love it here, and I'm having a great time, but honestly right now i just want to hop on a plane.
Go to you.
Where you should be, no one's around
I need a phone call
I need a raincoat
I need a big love
I need a phone call
There's things I remember, and things I forget
I miss you, I guess that I should
3,500 miles away
what would you change if you could?
I need a phone call
I'm homesick, probably mostly because I didn't sleep but about three hours last night.
Last night sucked.
I'm getting back into my "normal"--and AWFUL sleep schedule of a couple hours a night. I thought it was getting better--my mind was so exhausted from speaking French all the time, I wasn't having to take my sleep meds. I haven't taken them since I got here.
Apparently now that my mind is accustomed to the fact that it's speaking French all the time, my sleep schedule is back to normal. I went to bed at midnight last night, like I have been, and I laid there, awake, thinking and staring at the ceiling until 4am. I got up at 7 to be down in the kitchen by 8. This is the second night I've done this, and I don't want it to become a habit again.
My body runs just fine on three hours of sleep, but my mind doesn't work the same. I can think just fine--all the normal functions are there, and they work. But everything is enhanced, and not in a particularly good way; today I had an anxiety attack in class (random, not set off by anything), and I miss Rachel so much it hurts. The fact that I couldn't talk to her while it was happening was so hard. Even when I'm home, and it's 2am---if I have one, I call her. I cry. I talk. I scream if I want to.
But I couldn't. I could have left class and stood out in the hallway or went to the bathroom to ride it out, but I just sat there. I would rather have something to distract me than riding it out all by myself in a quiet room.
Talk about depressing.
So let it suffice to say I'm having a hard time today. I know these days will come and go, and I hope this one goes really fast. I love it here, and I'm having a great time, but honestly right now i just want to hop on a plane.
Go to you.
Where you should be, no one's around
I need a phone call
I need a raincoat
I need a big love
I need a phone call
There's things I remember, and things I forget
I miss you, I guess that I should
3,500 miles away
what would you change if you could?
I need a phone call
Monday, April 7, 2008
Fine, fine...new blog!
So I took another video update thingy and then forgot to put it on my computer to put on the blog.
oh well.
i can type it just as well.
Everything's going great here, and my host mom is amazing. The ten-euro straightener surprised me--it works really well. It's not my fifty-dollar awesomeness, but it does its job in less than an hour, which is really all I can ask for.
My host mom is so cute. She has a daughter-in-law named "Catherine" too, so when she says "Catherine" I always think she's talking to me. So she asked me, "What do your friends and family call you in the US?" and I said "Cathy." She said, "Catty?" It's so cute! The french can't make that "th" sound because it doesn't exist in the French language, so it comes out sounding like "Kattee," with the emphasis on the second syllable. It's so adorable, and that's what she calls me all the time now.
My French cell phone dealy is going well, and I'm still trying to figure out the whole number thing. I have a number, but I think it's just for local stuff--I have to find out what the area-code-ish thing is here, so you guys can call me with a calling card to my cell phone. Oh, and my host mom also said that you could call her house (before 9:30) with a calling card and that i could talk to you guys from there. If i get a carte orange (kinda like a french calling card) then i can call you from the house phone too. She's so nice!! I have that number locally also, but I need to figure out the whole international calling deal. I'll post that as soon as I know it. For now i'm pretty much dealing only in Skype, and it's working well for me. I'm done with class at 18h today, 6 my time, noon yours. So I might call some people today around noon--be ready for your calls from France!!
Okay, I'm posting some new pictures on facebook now, from the Carnavale for the kids. It's kind of like Halloween, but like a festival. All the kids dress up in a theme--and, perfectly, the theme this year was the US--and my host mom's grandson went as superman. I'll have some of those pics up on facebook as of today. Hopefully. If it works.
I'll probably post again before the end of the day--hopefully I'll talk to some of you today!
143, me
oh well.
i can type it just as well.
Everything's going great here, and my host mom is amazing. The ten-euro straightener surprised me--it works really well. It's not my fifty-dollar awesomeness, but it does its job in less than an hour, which is really all I can ask for.
My host mom is so cute. She has a daughter-in-law named "Catherine" too, so when she says "Catherine" I always think she's talking to me. So she asked me, "What do your friends and family call you in the US?" and I said "Cathy." She said, "Catty?" It's so cute! The french can't make that "th" sound because it doesn't exist in the French language, so it comes out sounding like "Kattee," with the emphasis on the second syllable. It's so adorable, and that's what she calls me all the time now.
My French cell phone dealy is going well, and I'm still trying to figure out the whole number thing. I have a number, but I think it's just for local stuff--I have to find out what the area-code-ish thing is here, so you guys can call me with a calling card to my cell phone. Oh, and my host mom also said that you could call her house (before 9:30) with a calling card and that i could talk to you guys from there. If i get a carte orange (kinda like a french calling card) then i can call you from the house phone too. She's so nice!! I have that number locally also, but I need to figure out the whole international calling deal. I'll post that as soon as I know it. For now i'm pretty much dealing only in Skype, and it's working well for me. I'm done with class at 18h today, 6 my time, noon yours. So I might call some people today around noon--be ready for your calls from France!!
Okay, I'm posting some new pictures on facebook now, from the Carnavale for the kids. It's kind of like Halloween, but like a festival. All the kids dress up in a theme--and, perfectly, the theme this year was the US--and my host mom's grandson went as superman. I'll have some of those pics up on facebook as of today. Hopefully. If it works.
I'll probably post again before the end of the day--hopefully I'll talk to some of you today!
143, me
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
La France!
Tout va bien en france.
All goes well here. We have the Mistral today (the wind that can blow up to 60 mph), but we think it's only going to last a couple of days. It's actually pretty cool. The University is an old hospital (and when I say old, I'm talking like 18th century old), and you can hear the wind howling outstide. It's nice.
My classes are, well, classes. They're fine. Whatever.
I miss all you guys, and I'm going to do like three posts today, to try to post some videos i took. it may not work though--the WiFi here is strong, but i don't know if it supports stuff like that. i'll try.
143, idem
All goes well here. We have the Mistral today (the wind that can blow up to 60 mph), but we think it's only going to last a couple of days. It's actually pretty cool. The University is an old hospital (and when I say old, I'm talking like 18th century old), and you can hear the wind howling outstide. It's nice.
My classes are, well, classes. They're fine. Whatever.
I miss all you guys, and I'm going to do like three posts today, to try to post some videos i took. it may not work though--the WiFi here is strong, but i don't know if it supports stuff like that. i'll try.
143, idem
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