A fairytale on amphetamines, castles and spires still looming in my memory mingled with the scent of ancient earth, the thrill of a job well begun, a boss that I want to grow up to be one day, a team that is thrilled with me, me, my weirdness, linuxness, geekness, manicness, that aren't afraid taking design decisions from a girl, on the contrary, are thrilled somehow...
I've been forbidden to wear high heels 'pon my return in two weeks. Linux-ties are alright tho.
I have approximately three hundred pages of documentation left to read (less than half) and I can't wait to slough through it.
They have such toys, there.
We made progress, brainstormed productively, learned collectively, and in the evenings I wandered ancient streets and gloried in the skyline, mountainous and spired behind me, looming over red-thatched valleys before me.
A few phone calls later and everyone at the consulting company is happy, my resum� modified back to it's original ssh-geek format for a job that sounded far too good to be true (like the one I just did), my stuff laid out on the bed waiting to be shoved into the bag I just emptied.
The gang meeting for our departure for CHamonix in moments.
The hotel I stayed in, in Limoges was the home of a parisian man that escaped the stress of here fifteen years ago, bought a house, and turned upstairs into boarding.
The window overlooked a cour filled with trees, trilling birds, and red thatch streaming downwards towards the valley farmlands.
I walked through a fairytale, through the Champ de Juillet, learning afterwards that it's the prostitute park, transvestites on one side, regular ol' girls on the other, and everytime a man stopped me to ask my going rate, I'd keep walking, calmly, happily, or maybe even stop to point them in the direction of this or that girl I'd just spoken with.
I have not yet seen any of the procelain that Limoges is famous for, but I have time.
My eyes are still full.
And this weekend, we ski the highest peak in Europe.
Monday, monday there is already work to be done, servers to reinstall, designs to elaborate on, decisions to review, CVs to rework, a million things.
David to touch, hopefully, the only thing missing from this fairy tale is my concubine.
Lunch is simmering again on the stove, magnesium-rich for an athletic weekend, and these aren't stars in my eyes, but dreams slowly realizing that I'm awake and actually living it.
Yesterday, I walked the streets I've dreamed the last twenty years.