Interview in an hour and suddenly three days of gallivanting are memories and my crude tanktops are replaced by carefully ironed lavender silk.
Hard to imagine, but I'm wearing diaryland colours, my eyebrows are freshly done neat-french style, and I'm gibbering again.
Made a couple of friends among the jugglers, Pierre and Franque and a third man with a beautiful smile, learned a couple of tricks and swore to perfect them at home before I venture out to see them again.
It was good, though... Their utter un-parisien freedom, I found my ringards and they shared a spliff with me.
Marie-Pierre, Alexe's friend who's been living here a couple of years now was terribly charming yesterday, and we drank raspberry beer (princess, you would have loved it but it was too juicy for me) and talked about sex and drugs and, of course, David.
She dragged me to see "Harvard Story" and it wasn't the movie I expected, more philosophy and sex and acid than stupid american cardboard love stories.
Shoulda been called Vassar Story, but hey.
Too much noise in my head to speak outright, the science fiction bookstore, suddenly returning memories of the first time I moved to France and all the anguish of the first few weeks that I'd forgotten.
If I'd kept a diary then...
In the meatime, I no longer fear the AZERTY keyboard.
A few other things are falling into place as well.
Maybe more, we'll see after the interview, il me reste une heure � me preparer...
Je vous en dirais plus demain. Mais ce soir, c'est la f�te. Je f�te la nouvelle job, ou ma rentr�e.
Une des deux, j'espere.