Paris weeps for me

Definitely one of those semi-crappy Parisian days designed to make me long for America and going home.

It's hot and rainy instead of hot and sunny. The morning was fine--had coffee with my landlord which was lovely. He bonjoured just about every other person that walked by and he knew. He talked about his time as a student and the day he left New York on his study abroad. It was nice.

I guess the only really crappy thing was closing my bank account. I guess my French was shit today, shit enough that the lady, maybe after a few seconds of me trying to comprehend what she was explaining, just got fed up and said she'll explain in English. Which was fine, whatever. All I could hear in my head was the Dude's concise resignation, "Fuck it".

Anyway, I used my card today which I shouldn't have and so it was I guess a big deal since she made it out that I can't get my money from my account until all transactions are verified, and she'll wire it. Fine. Then she went through all these hoops of fire and made calls and then said I could have some of it and wire the rest. She made it like it was some huge undertaking, that I had created a pile of work for her to overcome and do, and then when she finally found a solution, she said, "Do you agree to this? This would be better for me." Fuck lady, yeah whatever suits you, just make sure the fucking money gets here. Then the old bag at the counter kept counting the money she was going to give me as if she was parting with the money from her own wallet.

And the crappy, crappy part was me walking home (please dear reader, just let me whine just a little longer) and feeling like pre-Paris me. Naive, timid (still), never-speaking-up-for-myself, pre-Paris me. I thought I was done with all this confusing, living in Paris stuff, but Paris wins again.

This whole bank thing probably didn't go down as exaggerated as I put it probably--I'm just in a crappy mood on my last day in Paris. But that was enjoyable for me to write and for you to read, I hope. I apologize for the cursing, you usually don't read me like this. Next time I write it will be about happier things, I pray and hope to God.

analysis

Mother and Father are on a bus tour of Valencia and will probably get some tasty paella tonight, whilst I opted out and am here in the hotel room posting here. WHY?

That's a damn good question.

I was asking myself why I was having an "okay" time in Spain. I wasn't enjoying it as much as I should be, I felt, and I couldn't understand why exactly for the life of me. I mean, the only thing I loved about it was that it was a cool road trip with the fam, but I didn't have time to really research the places we were visiting, plus I think the stuff just went sour on my part when I left my stupid passport in Paris.

Anyway, I opted out of the bus tour and dinner because I wanted the parentals to have some time alone without my stupid, sad face and hoped that I would be in better spirits when they come back.

I think the reason I'm not enjoying Spain as much as I should be is because I can't stop thinking of Paris. I leave in a week, and I only get one day back in Paris after we get back from Spain, and it doesn't feel like enough. I have too much to do, and it's all going to go by so fast. I had that week or so after school to really enjoy the Mouffetard and everything, but it wasn't enough. I thought it was, but it really wasn't. I'm on the beach along the Mediterrean or walking by the Alhambra, and I can't get packing, dealing with rent, buying some Paris souvenirs for friends off my stupid, effing brain. And I can't effing help it, seriously. And it's horrible. I can't complain. I've had close to a year in Paris, and I'm in freakin' beautiful Spain? I should not be complaining. Not about more time in Paris, not about Spain. Ugh...I really don't like where I am right now. Not literally of course. Just...my head is a mess.