I’ve just read an article stating that ‘thin slices of joy matter’ -we should be taking the time to notice and appreciate the small reliefs, sensations and pleasures of everyday life. Apparently you get better at this as you get older, but today must surely be proof of my ongoing youth. Firstly, there is absolutely no joy whatsoever in this plate of mush I have served up to myself. Apparently the French don’t eat the same kinds of beans we do, and my longing for beans on toast has to satisfy itself with some kind of sugar free mulch and gluten free pain au cardboard. Washed down by another coffee attempt -this time I appear to have ended up with a lukewarm double espresso. It is all most disgusting. But in general, it’s been a bad oul morning. I’ve made four unsuccessful attempts to contact Objets Trouvés (lost and found) in the town hall, only to be told to call back in five minutes three times, and to have a very confusing exchange of wrong numbers on the fourth. I traipsed back to the train station to discover that Objets Trouvés there is only open during a two hour window in the mornings, because of the holidays. The credit card is doomed.
However, there are some advantages to despondency. It is becoming increasingly clear to me that men sense vulnerability, and they effing LOVE it. As I exited the train station, feeling miserable and defeated, one of the hottest men in history started eyeballing me. I took no notice, until it happened three more times in the ensuing hour -different guys each time. Apparently, to attract a man, I need more pain, misery and loneliness in my life! However, having identified the solution, I’m not sure I can implement it with any degree of success -you can’t fake that shit. Still, having noticed of late far too much ‘madame-ing’ and not enough ‘madamoiselle-ing’, I’ll take what I can get in the ego boosting stakes.
So today is the last day of the course, and I am about to become officially direction-less. Now that my life has no purpose, I am a bit unnerved. Additionally, it is the Jazz Weekend at home. Now I may not have mentioned this before, but I LOVE the Jazz Weekend. To me, it is better than Christmas -all the fun and none of the hype -and I have genuine affection for it. So when I rang my bestie at 5:30, I was nothing short of devastated to hear that she is already in a pub with all of our friends. In one of my favourite pubs, as it happens, where there is a fire and crosswords on the tables. The crosswords were a step too far. I may never forgive that pub. This Amsterdam trip next week is well-timed.
The day has however been somewhat redeemed by getting good marks in the course -I didn’t even know they were assessing us, but apparently so! My oral comprehension an expression are reportedly coming along very well, although my written expression is betraying my cavalier approach to anything that resembles grammar or structure. What care I for pronouns! If I even knew what they were.. Still, big teacher’s pet that I am, I got 20/20 for ‘travail’, working hard. (Thin slices of joy you say…) It feels a bit like a medal for participation, but I’ll take it! I’ll even go one further, and I’ll put it on my CV is what I’ll do. Hopefully this will distract potential employers from the spelling errors, and enlighten them to the fact that there is very little report-writing involved in smiling at people and serving coffees. I might have to work on the smiling…