As usual, I'm blaming the boys for all my misfortunes, justly or not. This time I'm blaming Martin for the mild (but nasty) cold I seem to have caught - after all, he was complaining of a sore throat yesterday morning. Needless to say, the kettle's getting an extra workout, and my productive day of getting stuff done has turned into a lazy feeling-sorry-for-Firefly day.
Yesterday was pretty much a normal day. I saw Martin before class and we made plans to have lunch after class. Of course, it occurred to me during break, after I managed to carry a hot chocolate from the ground-floor canteen to our third-floor canteen all by myself, that I'd forgotten to put any more money in my wallet that morning, and I wasn't sure how much I had left. Lucky for me, I had my metro fare home and enough over for lunch.
I got out of class, though, to find a message from Martin saying he'd left some stuff at home and had to go back for it, but would be at uni again later. Having no idea whether Paul and Lisanne's class had finished or not, I went for lunch with a bunch of other girls from my class that I hadn't really spoken to before - three Germans, two Czechs, an Austrian, and my Ecuador-born Italian friend. For the first time the common language really WAS French (except for the bit of English that Julia and I used since German and English are so compatible).
Returning to uni, I finally managed to speak to someone in the Spanish department about language levels and then headed for the library, where I borrowed my first book - Jules Verne's Around the World in 80 Days - in French, of course. Martin was still nowhere to be found and I was getting frustrated when he messaged me to say that he wasn't coming in as he had to go to the hospital. Naturally, given my recent experiences, this caused a mild panic attack on my part. Turns out the genius walked into a door at home and wound up resembling the fruit bat from Mum's favourite joke that flew into a tree, and the pharmacist had recommended getting stitches.
Having been reassured that the poor child didn't need me to come and get him since he'd already been discharged from hospital, I dropped in to visit Brigitte at my residence on my way out to the shops. She quickly furnished me with an attestation de logement to give to my bank so I can get my bank card, and while we were at it we sorted out the direct debiting for my monthly rent, which I'm sure made her happy. I also gave her the large pile of mail I had for my apartment's previous tenants, which greatly outweighed the mail for me...nothing like feeling loved.
Having woken up this morning with Martin's little cold, there was very little motivation to do anything but sit around in my pajamas and mope til 2pm, which I did, and did very well. It was sunny outside, so I decided to go for a walk to get some sunshine - and some Vitamin C tablets if I could find them. The pharmacy was closed on Saturdays, unsurprisingly, and there was no sign of vitamins in either of Le Bourget's two supermarkets - yes, I said two. I found another one on my walk. It's bigger than the Franprix supermarket that I've been going to and it sort of resembles Aldi on the inside - except for the bread section, naturally, which resembles a neat, well-stocked little bakery of its own.
I was trying to find the local pool, which is supposedly at the end of my street, but having found my way to the local sports complex which was five minutes in a different direction without seeing any sign of a pool, I decided it was time to head home to mope again. That was when I saw the sign - literally. "Publique piscine". I continued heading home, but I had a pretty good squiz from the other side of the road so I knew where to look on my next walk. It was only a 200 metre walk home, and once I've crossed Rue Jean Jaures I'd estimate another 50 metres to the pool - really not a problem for a person with two feet (which I will have by the time I'm allowed to swim again).
The cripple thing goes down a lot better here than it would in Australia. Everyone offers me a seat on the bus or metro, even when I'm not looking for one. I even got ma'amed the other day by an adorable 10-year-old boy offering me a seat. "Excusez-moi, madame, voulez-vous s'assessoir?" "Excuse me, ma'am, would you like to sit down?" I almost laughed. I have to remember that to someone of his age I'm an older person, and they therefore have to be unfailingly polite, using 'madame' and 'vous' (the polite form of 'you'). The worst part is I don't know how to address him back! Monsieur - perhaps?
The crutches do have downsides, though. It rained yesterday afternoon, and apart from the obvious difficulties of using crutches on wet, slippery streets (even worse when you enter buildings with polished floors - 'slipped on a banana peel' comes to mind), a girl who's using two hands on her crutches can't hold an umbrella! When I'm heading home alone I just have to put up with it and get wet. It's still summer, though (just), and the mosquitoes here think I'm just as much of a rare delicacy as did the ones at home. Damn thing got me on the metro yesterday morning twice before I noticed he was there. I had a nice red spot on my face (and hand) to try and explain when I arrived at uni. Course, they match the fading mozzie bites from my first few nights here, when it was as hot as the Outback at Christmas and I had the windows open of an evening...
In a minute I'll grab a needle and thread and finishing patching my jeans and watching Bones before bed. Every night before I go to sleep I look out the window at the Eiffel Tower all lit up. I'm not sure why, since it's not even a monument that I really like, but it looks kind of magical at nighttime. She seems like some kind of golden guardian angel, watching over the city of Paris in its sleep. It's reassuring to see her standing there every evening like an old friend, especially on the days when I miss Australia just a tiny little bit - like today.
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