I finally got my act and work together yesterday, and headed down to La Defense to drop off and sign everything today.
The atmosphere there is insane, two men and an army of beautiful, insane women acting as placement agents for the hordes of consultants they bring over.
Lots of giggles and laughter at my bemused expressions, a few updates on where my CV has been sent off, a promising sounding short contract in the works with Guyslaine.
Thing is, the demand was put out for someone with ten to fifteen years of experience. Guylaine submitted my CV anyway.
They're actually looking at it.
Now that's either intimidating, or a scary insight into the fact that companies still have no idea what they want or what they're looking for.
Not going to worry about it until I hear about an interview.
Wandering back I stopped into my bank, met my new counsellors and exchanged grins and sunny laughter with the secretaries.
Nice people in a bank, thass cool.
Princess is off showing her portfolio to a bunch of studios, so I had time before racing back here to meet her, and I spent it wandering the sun-drenched streets of my neighbourhood, where the weather seems to have shifted people back to the legendary convivial french who stop to say hello in the street and smile at each other as though it is enough to share air to share smiles.
I like that.
I stopped in my favourite tea-shop to replace the tea-pot that cracked and to indulge in some yunnaman green tea leaves that smelled too divine to leave in their rust-coloured tin.
I looked longingly at the artichokes on the vegetable stands, and wondered when I'd have time to try steaming a few with a bechamel sauce.
Then I wandered about some more, kept my wallet tucked away and simply breathed in the aromas from the flower shops and fruit stands, avoiding the corners of urine-stained pavement.
Moments of calm like that always come with too many budding plans, wondering when I'm going to get around to that martial arts class, or at least the local gym, wondering when my next singing lesson will be, wondering if I can afford or where I could find a basic oneology course, seeing as it would be a shame to leave here without having learned a bit more about wine than the basic regions and how they differ from bordeaux.
Cripes, my friends out here listen to my opinions about wine, and all I know is that I serve a bourgogne with cheese, serve stronger wines after, that a St-Emillion is almost always excellent, a St-Estephe not far from there, and that Guillaume's obsession for Chateau-Neuf du Pape has never yet gone awry.
And that a Montbazillac is a tad too sweet for my tastes.
Walking these streets was a quiet and peaceful thing, drawing out my coffee-avoidance headache from this morning, and yet it left me feeling something very poignantly, perhaps remnants from one of Mr. Pyke's books that I've been reading.
No matter how many times the phone rings, or how many times princess kisses me on the cheek before dropping off to sleep, when I make plans each morning, I make them alone.
When I wander the streets and see my visions in reflected corners of slick pavement, they rebound along inside my head, with only me to cherish them.
It's always been that way, except for fortunate moments when both David and I have had the world to ourselves, and we cling together, and sometimes I wonder, if it will always be that way.
I have learned to love wandering lost amongst my private landscapes.
I guess that's the luckiest part of being a monstre.