Conflicted
I feel incredibly conflicted.
The last few days has passed in a haze of nostalgia and trying to see everyone before they or I leave.
After the British girls left, I met up with Lucy and some English/Italian friends at Jardin Publique. The weather was beautifully hot, and I stayed in the shade so as not to make my sunburn worse. I went to open mic night at the Connemara for the last time, which was pretty sad. I played "This Year" by the Mountain Goats and U2's "One", that last with Lawrence Collins and my friends Nath and Clémentine singing along. It wasn't the best rendition, in part from my lack of preparation and in part from their lyrics covering my tab on the music stand, but it all worked out. We played some more guitar in the park across the street after the bar closed. I walked home.
It stormed a bit that night, and a cold front came in. It's now in the mid 60s at midday and pretty cold in the morning and the evening. Last night was Wednesday, and our friend Nico came to the apartment. We went out to go to the grocery store, with the intention of buying some sausages to take to another Erasmus going away party. We started toward Monoprix a few minutes before it closed at 9, then decided to change course to Carrefour since it was cheaper, but when we got there it was closed. We ended up walking to Auchan to buy two kilos of merguez and some baguettes to take to the party. We took the tram all the way over to the river and walked to where the apartment was, only to find that the occupant had moved and now lived right next to the grocery store we had just visited. We crossed town again and finally arrived. There were Germans and Italians and French people. Some Canadians, and us. We grilled the sausage outside, and there were people at various times playing guitar. One of the Italians played "Let's Not Shit Ourselves (To Love or To Be Loved)" and that made me happy. It was a good night, and we walked home late, and shared a bottle of Bordeaux crémant. I went to bed at 5:30.
And I woke up at 10, which was rather painful. I had an appointment at the bank, though my banker apparently is no longer my banker. He was walking back and forth and not acknowledging me, while I waited 25 minutes for my replacement banker to take my appointment. The actual closing of the account only took about ten minutes, when it was all said and done. I came back home and after attempting to get my day off the ground, decided to take a nap.
This afternoon I met up with Christine, who leaves for California tomorrow. We had some sangria and some tapas (croquettes morues) at a bistro right down the street from my house, during which time I saw five dogs try in their disgusting manner to mark the same pole. And that's about the time I realized maybe I was ready to go home. Fewer dogs, for sure. Anyway, we walked down by the quais and she took some photos of things she hadn't yet photographed. We ended up back at my house.
I met Mary for drinks by the river again. We went to the Charles Dickens and Milo's again, and showed up at Dick Turpin's to see Dan. I've just come home from there.
Tomorrow I'm seeing various other people, including my study abroad advisers from OU and Dan and Mary, who are going to show me a Nazi submarine base of some kind. Saturday, I'm sure I will be frantically seeing people, too. At some point I will have to clean the apartment and pack my things. I'm putting it off. Which really doesn't delay anything. Departure is Monday morning, and it seems surreal. Every time I see someone or something, I'm sure it's the last time I will see them/it. It's kind of stressing me out.
Still, home is more alluring all the time. Soon.
The last few days has passed in a haze of nostalgia and trying to see everyone before they or I leave.
After the British girls left, I met up with Lucy and some English/Italian friends at Jardin Publique. The weather was beautifully hot, and I stayed in the shade so as not to make my sunburn worse. I went to open mic night at the Connemara for the last time, which was pretty sad. I played "This Year" by the Mountain Goats and U2's "One", that last with Lawrence Collins and my friends Nath and Clémentine singing along. It wasn't the best rendition, in part from my lack of preparation and in part from their lyrics covering my tab on the music stand, but it all worked out. We played some more guitar in the park across the street after the bar closed. I walked home.
It stormed a bit that night, and a cold front came in. It's now in the mid 60s at midday and pretty cold in the morning and the evening. Last night was Wednesday, and our friend Nico came to the apartment. We went out to go to the grocery store, with the intention of buying some sausages to take to another Erasmus going away party. We started toward Monoprix a few minutes before it closed at 9, then decided to change course to Carrefour since it was cheaper, but when we got there it was closed. We ended up walking to Auchan to buy two kilos of merguez and some baguettes to take to the party. We took the tram all the way over to the river and walked to where the apartment was, only to find that the occupant had moved and now lived right next to the grocery store we had just visited. We crossed town again and finally arrived. There were Germans and Italians and French people. Some Canadians, and us. We grilled the sausage outside, and there were people at various times playing guitar. One of the Italians played "Let's Not Shit Ourselves (To Love or To Be Loved)" and that made me happy. It was a good night, and we walked home late, and shared a bottle of Bordeaux crémant. I went to bed at 5:30.
And I woke up at 10, which was rather painful. I had an appointment at the bank, though my banker apparently is no longer my banker. He was walking back and forth and not acknowledging me, while I waited 25 minutes for my replacement banker to take my appointment. The actual closing of the account only took about ten minutes, when it was all said and done. I came back home and after attempting to get my day off the ground, decided to take a nap.
This afternoon I met up with Christine, who leaves for California tomorrow. We had some sangria and some tapas (croquettes morues) at a bistro right down the street from my house, during which time I saw five dogs try in their disgusting manner to mark the same pole. And that's about the time I realized maybe I was ready to go home. Fewer dogs, for sure. Anyway, we walked down by the quais and she took some photos of things she hadn't yet photographed. We ended up back at my house.
I met Mary for drinks by the river again. We went to the Charles Dickens and Milo's again, and showed up at Dick Turpin's to see Dan. I've just come home from there.
Tomorrow I'm seeing various other people, including my study abroad advisers from OU and Dan and Mary, who are going to show me a Nazi submarine base of some kind. Saturday, I'm sure I will be frantically seeing people, too. At some point I will have to clean the apartment and pack my things. I'm putting it off. Which really doesn't delay anything. Departure is Monday morning, and it seems surreal. Every time I see someone or something, I'm sure it's the last time I will see them/it. It's kind of stressing me out.
Still, home is more alluring all the time. Soon.
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