This is why I call it messy

Written Friday night at 7:30

Uh. I kind of feel disgusting right now. I came home from school at 10:30, took at nap, woke up to go on a run, talked to Laura, and now, under the overhead light of my apartment, I am watching some of the movie 300. So to the group of people who have been following my blog, thanks, and here is a little of the unglamorous part of my life here. Ugh, it is moments like this, and this past week has been one of them, that I sort of feel like I am waisting my life. I have had many people tell me that I am to hard on myself, that I work to hard to be perfect, well I admit to this, but this thing in my spirit/stomach pulls at me and tells me that I was made to do more with my life than eat, sleep and watch worthless movies. Pfriem, thanks for setting an example.

Welcome to the more messy side of my life.

Clairification

I realized that the last post I put up might have sounded a little too sad, like I was counting down the days to come home or something. This was not my intention at all. I am very happy to be here. In fact I was walking to a professor’s house to return an inflatable mattress that she had lent me, thinking how much I know I am going to miss this place when I leave in four months. The conversations about whatever in French, the time alone, the mornings where it is just me and coffee and my journal and nothing to do until the afternoon, this morning for instance, the getting-to-know stages of a job and city and new people.
And with this decision of where to live for the next couple of years in the back of my mind, WA or TN, I am very thankful that I am able to think on that from a distance. Not that it is set, but it is a continual conversations within me here.

I have learned a whole lot while I have been here about myself, Jesus, family, friends, and so on (blogs about this to come soon). Thanks Garen.

The end of the vacation...

I have been back in school for almost two weeks now and i am not super stoked on it. It was so much more fun to be sipping mate with the Argentinian family in Barcelona, or waking up once again to Laura in my apartment, or bombing around in the Volswagon Golf the Loya's rented with us to go to Toulouse and Carcassonne. Or maybe even another bomb dish of something Carlie Loya made while I was at school... but no, I am in school again. Laura left last Sunday, sad, but true, and for the first time I counted up the months until I return myself and there are only four months left!

I wasn't in Barcelona actually. I was in Manresa, a city in Catalonia, not Spain, as Oriol (he is the boyfriend of the Spanish assistant in the same high-school as me) was so happy to tell me. I spent five days, including Christmas with this family, eating more meat than I could imagine, and just having a great time with them, laughing and trying to learn Spanish as I used it as incorrectly as possible. I climbed twice with her brother, Pablo, and we went to Barcelona one day to see the sights and walk around. It is really a beautiful city, especially the Gaudi buildings that are there.

Upon returning on the bus I wasn't super stoked on waiting around in Toulouse for Laura all night, and not wanting to pay for a ticket back home I hitched a ride home to sleep in my own bed, and then the next morning did the same to arrive in Toulouse to meet Laura.

We spent the new year with my friend David and his girlfriend, Cecil. She speaks english well, and David doesn't speak at all, so of course Laura and David got along splendidly through facial expressions and some small translations.

The Loya's came to the fair city of Castres for a long weekend. There were many nights of a great meal, wine, cards ( at which Laura beat us all every time), and just fun conversation.

They left to head to Spain, Laura and I hung out for another week, and then sadly she left to return to Bellingham. My apartment seemed really big and lonely when I returned.
More thoughts to come, but there are pictures galore. Go to flcker!

Tired, cold, mad: bad combination

Just plain mad. I exited my apartment in a flurry with all kinds of bad French words in my head ready to hit the first person that gave me a bad look. Still the heat problem here, and today I was given a gas heater which when turned off, smokes. Lovely. It is ten thirty in the evening here, I wanted to go to bed, but the adrenaline from the conversation and the fumes that still linger even with the windows open are keeping me awake. So I fume, the wind whips through my apartment and well Merry Christmas to all of you.
It has been a little while since I have written I have been in kind of a funk lately. I am tired, frustrated not to be able to climb, so I am running. I didn’t realize how much I really don’t like it, but I have a race coming up in a few months so I have to put in the time. Laura is coming soon, followed by the Loya’s so all that will be really nice.
And in two days I leave for Barcelona to be with the Spanish assistant, her family and boyfriend and little baby, Martina. Just turned one. I promise that I will post pictures of this trip and write a little something as well.
Merry Christmas. Some I will see sooner than others…

Done

Well that is about it. One week in the life of an American in France. It was such a great exercise and it really made me think about every day and highlight one thing that was meaningful or stuck out to me. The literary part was fun as well, I would end up with two hundred words, and then have to shave them down to half sentences. I will definitely do more of it in the future, but for the moment, I think I am tired. Not tired of writing, just tired. Tuesdays are the long days, up at six thirty, and I am just now getting home, it is eleven. I ate at Jean Baptiste's apartment after climbing, well I taught them ultimate instead. He is coming to my place Thursday to have soup. Well here goes my first French soup called Pot-au-feu, it is considered a classic French dish. And yes, this is one hundred and sixty words.

2.12.07

The lights are up. Waves of yellow hang over the walking streets of Castres, signaling the Christmas season merriment. Maybe once or twice a week I go on a night walk. Nowhere in particuar, just to be out at night and see the city. Kids yelling outside McDonalds, a couple enjoying an after dinner stroll, the Domino’s delivery guy on a scooter. I happily talk to my parents for a bit, they don’t know it but they have called during church. I don’t have one here. Tonight I decide that the streets will be my sanctuary, a conversation with the Father the sermon. Reassurance is the message. Almost immediately as I pass the train station, there is a presence. Nothing said, just a calm and I am thankful. Thankful mostly for the people I know, the opportunity to be here; the fact that I am alone. It has taken almost ten weeks to be thankful for that, but I am.

1.12.07

I don’t like Paris much. Too big, dirty, impersonal, daunting, expensive. Toulouse however is another matter. I pulled myself out of bed at eight thirty, wanting to visit the Saturday market. I make the tour first to see what is there. Old men selling eggs and honey. Women selling pumpkins and clumps of garlic. All is sufficiently surveyed, I go back once more, hands out of my pea coat, ready to harvest for the week. Eggs, carrots, cabbage, a pre-made soup mélange, cheese. I ask for two I like, then ask him to propose something, highly recommended. An old cantal. Strong, breaks like parmesan. Running home with my treasures, Nico, David and Cecil are on the street. I am late. Today is a trip to Toulouse for wandering and presents. The city has rain. I can’t remember any of the sounds, only the feeling of contentment. Buying doesn’t entice, I go in on a Frisbee. Dinner for one at nine.