All sorts of lovely lunchtime conversations about wolves and Canadian environmentalists and frightening puritanical US laws about sodomy and homosexuality -- all sorts of wonderful rapprochements over lunch with a delightfully intelligent woman at work, her shock that such invasion of privacy laws could even exist, her admiration that Canada even has environmental laws, her recounting of how in France, onceuponatime they killed off all the wolves and how they view Canada with strange awe because wolves are such mystical creatures to them now...
All for naught. One of my roommates, the one that had his own friends stay over and play the TV loud all night, complained, without saying a word to me, to Planaxis about CF and Mystie.
They have to be gone by tonight.
I ought to have just enough money to rent them a youth hostel, but the sudden stress, the fact that I can't reach them, the fact that a wonderful visit has turned into something stressful and difficult not to mention how much trouble I'm in with my company...
It's overwritten everything right now, my successful meeting with the project managers this morning, the way I impressed them, the way I've made so much progress so swiftly in just a few days at work...
All of it has been replaced by a terrible grinding headache and the urge to run home to David and cry into his arms.
He sent me virtual hugs instead, told me that he had successfully gotten my bed from my appartment, making it all the more final that I'm in Paris for good, I have no bed to come home to anymore.
I spoke to my bank, though, and the funds I transferred I should be able to pick up first thing Saturday.
It's all fixable, but fuck does it ever bite.