I seem to not have the energy for a blog right about now. Even though I'm a week behind. I'll spare you the whining I just highlighted and deleted. If only I could do that with my conversation. That would spare me so many nights mulling over all the idiotic things I wish I hadn't said. My life in rough draft. If I had a super power, that would be it: to have a rough draft and final version of everything I undertook. Maybe even two rough drafts, for good measure.
Speaking of life, William provided me with some great insight a couple weeks back at the dinner table. (Yes, the dinner table. In light of my last post, this is hardly astonishing). We put the dinner table pretty much right in front of the big screen every night. I normally have the best seat and the best view, as it's me that faces said tv screen. On this particular evening, we had some tall plastic water bottles on the table instead of the usual pitcher. These bottles inevitably blocked my view and I didn't really realize it until I poured myself some water and then tried to put the bottle back somewhere where no one's view would be obstructed. It just wasn't happening, such a place did not exist. Then Will takes the bottle from me, pours, and puts it back where I got it. "C'est ca la vie," he adds. That's life. "Parfois on n'a pas la belle vue. Parfois oui." Sometimes you don't have a great view. Sometimes you do.
My twelve year old philosophy was something like this: life should be fair. Fair meaning of course that everyone was entitled to great views all the time. I'm still suffering from disillusionment but it's not like I wasn't warned, though. Dad was always telling me that life wasn't fair and I was always telling him that he was wrong and that it should be. Maybe if he had said it in French it would have sunk in. Maybe if he had said it over the dinner table. Maybe if I had rough draft super powers I could rewrite myself more realistic.
I think I'm going to work on this one in spurts. It's bound to be random but less forced.
Right now I feel like telling you that I am going to Prague on Friday. I may not even publish this before I go. I am pretty excited, I guess. James and I were talking the other day about how when you first get to a place you have all these "holy cow I can't believe I'm here" moments. You start living in a place long enough and those "wonder moments" get fewer and fewer. Like everything else in life, they need maintaining. We had this conversation on a boat on our way to see the Calanques. I remember saying that I was enjoying myself but I was especially enjoying thinking about how a year from now I would look back and think what a lucky girl I was to have the chance to go boating on the Mediterranean. Just thinking about the nostalgia I would experience made enjoy myself even more.
Then, I am reading this hilarious girly book to pass my time on public transportation. The narrator is complaining about her sister, and in reference to the Harry Potter books she says "I wonder what my sister prefers: standing in line to buy the book or reading it. I think it's standing in line." While yes, I love reading the books, I definitely love the standing in line part. And then I love talking about it afterward. The actual reading process is a bit hazy, in all reality. So I suffer from anticipation and nostalgia, both of which prevent me in a sense from living in the present, one might say. It's a tendency I can't ignore. But since I am not working myself up over Prague I can't decide if I'm just in denial that I'm going (something like it being too good to be true), if I'm in "wonder moment" overload (numbness), or if maybe for once I will manage to enjoy myself in the present instead of exhausting my enjoyment before the fact. I'll let you know when I get back (Monday). In the meantime, I'm going to bed.
So today is Monday. It was was actually Monday when I wrote that last bit. Monday the 3rd, early in the A.M. We are now at Monday P to the M. I went to see La-Haut (UP) with Louise and her brothers. I think I honestly understood every word. Expect when the dog's voice collar gets all high pitched. But I was encouraged. Looks like all those hours I spend watching French movies all by self back home are finally and eventually paying off. Now that I am fluent in French movie watching I'll go back home and spend even more time doing it. And you people wonder why I'm introverted. It is entirely not my fault that you don't enjoy watching subtitled films. I seriously wonder when I'm going to get over French. Or if. I wish I knew so I could start planning for it.
Speaking of planning for things, Drew and I had this conversation the other night. As a matter of fact, Chris and I had about the same convo a couple months back. It all revolved around answering the following question: if you somehow knew now that you would end up never getting married, never having kids, how would that change your plans for the future? Planning for a solitary life presents endless options. Mine would involve going between the perpetual student and the exiled traveler/struggling author. Not to mention a plethora of movies to watch by myself. I think I'd eventually get bored of French and move on to Spanish, then Japanese, then Russian. Except it's hard to find subtitled movies in Russian so maybe I'd have to move there.
It's weird to think of my alter-existence. Mine presents itself way too clearly before my imagination. Or maybe my imagination is just overly active. Either way, it's an utterly selfish existance, I'll tell you that. Without people around me to live for, I would definitely revert to the most selfish version of myself. There are people whose alter-existences would involve humanitarian work and living for others in a different sense. I feel like a horrible person but I'll admit that I would have stints maybe of good deeds but I don't think my life would be dedicated to anything like that. I think that's why the following poem, entitled "To my Child", quoted by Gordon B. Hinckly in this general conference talk always gets to me:
You are the trip I did not take;
You are the pearls I cannot buy;
You are my blue Italian lake;
You are my piece of foreign sky.
I remember the moment I realized that my parents actually lived other lives before I (child number one) came along. I was flipping through old photo albums and found a section or an album of a once-upon-a-childless-time. And I was totally in shock at the realization that they had once been something other than "Mom" and "Dad". It was a humbling moment. I think I can safetly say that it honestly changed me. To think that all parents everywhere abandon that hypothetical alter-and-likely-selfish-existence for the sake of family. It's really something. I think I'll find out once and for all how to enable comments on here so there can be a discussion in response to that golden question of what you would do differently if you knew you weren't going to have the responsibility of one day having a husband/wife/family.
Anway so today I was walking home from the film listening to my music. I wasn't really in a hurry to get home so I took a detour through downtown Marseille, where I go about once a week at least, and walked around a bit, ran a little errand and such before heading for my tram. There I was, just walking and I stepped onto the street, looked both ways at Marseille spread out before me. And I most definitely had a "wonder moment" and realized I was in France. Like, for reals. And then I had a revelation: I have these moments most often when I am alone and when I'm listening to music. In that order. The music only takes effect if I'm by myself. Then its effects are disastrous.
Let's just say that I have been known to find myself walking home from the tram past midnight with no company but my itouch, and- for lack of a car to sing my heart out in-I out loud it from the sidewalks. The brick and cement garden walls combined with the narrow streets make for great acoustics. It's frankly better than the shower.
They say here that it's not a good idea to have headphones in at night since potential harrasers will take advantage of the distraction/deafness. Don't worry Mom and Dad; I only leave one earpiece in for my moonlit sidewalk serenades. Plus, I tell myself, who's gonna mess with some chick straight up singing to herself in the middle of the night. Maybe I am crazy, but no one's gonna mess with the crazy chick, right?
So I'm going to be honest: I've been rambling so as to avoid posting photos. They are a royal pain even if they are the best way to give an idea of what I've been up to. When it comes down to it, I'm not really in the mood to talk about dates and events. I'll eventually get around to it, don't fret, but in the meantime let's just say that I've had two very enjoyable past two weeks. I have been getting out more with Americans and Frenchies my age alike. We even planned a fajita night last week (guess whose idea it was to make fajitas). All this hanging out means only one thing really: I'm starting to adore everyone here. When you see people 3 times or so a week, what with summer fever and the ever carefree french mentality, it's bound to happen, friendships, attachments and all. This is my favorite part of traveling. It was my favorite part of the mission: the people. It just makes me start to believe again that moving here, well, that wouldn't be so bad after all...
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