I walked into a dying party last night, one depressed face had infected the next, and the next, and so on.
When I walked in, Isabelle jumped up and shouted for joy.
It was quite the compliment.
I told the story of my matching bruises, the one on my left buttcheek from toilet cleaning, and the one on the left side of my pelvis from trying to walk and talk at the same time.
I waved my arms about, I laughed loud and long and hard at myself, and eventually the laughter caught and Sabrina and Sophie were off and running with their own wall of shame and the evening went on around me, while Isabelle and I huddled on the balcony, with Cristal, and stared in silence at the Basilica.
This morning all is perfect. I woke an hour before the alarm, took a long bath, washed the floors one last time, made coffee, made lunch, rerouted my email, checked my bags, took out the garbage, did one last sweep of the appartment...
And in a half hour or so, when Collette has exeunt from her shower, we will be off to the airport, trying to finagle getting all my bags onto the plane.
That's it. End of story. One last aria into my cour to wake the neighbours, and the adventure continues.