Reading some other peoples blogs is inspiring. Take Jessica Rabbit for example who shows up in some of my comments. This is a lady who has done it all or almost all anyway and her most recent entry is a brilliant piece of writing and a testament to true love.
However my life I need not point out is different. I have discovered the problem, apart from having to fill in a tax form that I knew nothing about, and don't know where to get, not being able to pay my rent, (they sent me a reciept for it anyway, so I am keeping quiet till they ask) having to go to the cops and sign a form that says I am no longer living with either the bane nor the joy of my life, (should have done it six months ago apparently), and apart from the fact that I don't make enough money, so I need to find a real job even a crap one, (I thought I had finished the sweeping shit jobs) and unemployment in this region is 15%, apart from all that, and having to organise a whole load of english classes for ungrateful students who don't realise that the letter Z is not the most popular letter in English and that H isn't there for decoration, apart from that, the problem is I suddenly realise I am a coward.
I am stuck in a rut I can't get out of right now because I am afraid to speak french. Don't get me wrong, one on one, my french is okay, I can have a conversation about almost anything assuming I am not tired, (I am just over full blown flu, had my heart broken, have no cash, and few close friends, worry about my boy all the time and generally worrry, how could I possilby be tired?). The worry gives rise to fear which is exhausting, which gives rise to more fear, which wins out to cowardice. I cannot get my head around working in a buger joint or serving coffee to French people I just freeze at the thought of it. Now if you asked me to work in a hospital, be a barman, wash dishes, clean houses, yeah no problem. But a guy who grew up in Ireland when there was no economy, has been rarely out of a job, has never not paid a bill in his life, and is intelligent, is now down on himself cause just like 5 million other people in France I can't get a real job and I am too proud to serve ice cream. What the hell is wrong with me. The language problem comes from hearing a new voice or a new accent, each time it takes me five minutes to figure it out. Imagine you are hurrying for lunch you order a cream coffee and you have to repeat it 6 times to the obviously dumb ass who doesn't understand what you are saying. How the hell did he get the job in the first place? Well he had more courage than I for one. That's how.
With the weather improving up to 18C so I didn't wear my gloves on the scooter for the first time today I was kinda wistfully hoping the sunshine would snap me out of my anal obbession and I could stop walking around like an acrobat with my head up my ass complaining about the smell. No joy yet. One job I applied for online today replied negatively so quickly, they couldn't have time to read the email never mind the CV. Oh the joys of being a naieve 18 year old again at the age of 37. Still I don't have a problem. I just need to get up off my ass and find the confidence and start talking the old blarney I used to in Ireland, albeit in a different language, accent and country to very very very different people.
Funny I was planning to write about St Patricks coming up and I have no idea what any Irish people here are doing apart from working. Still guess I won't be having my annual lunch time Guinness. Don't think it would go down to well in English class at the bank in Monaco. Ha how grand does that sound. Still I am not brave for staying here to be close to my son and whoever decides I am the man of their dreams in the future, just stubborn. Maybe its a good start.
Imaginary Authors: Violet Disguise, Every Storm a Serenade, Saint Julep - Evocative biographical notes, labels of collaged imagery, Imaginary Authors builds stories fulfilled in perfume. They are casual yet glamorous, and each o...
3 weeks ago