(no subject)
When I'm at work I skip around and sing and banter with customers and make great tips and pick up everyone's spare shifts and am generally charming.
As soon as I'm out the doors my self-pity comes back. The longer I think about it the more ridiculous it gets and then I just start crying for half a second and then I stop but now my nose is running and I feel like a jerk. I miss France. I miss being in Paris. I miss Patrice Maktav caring about me. I miss how right I felt when I was giggling with other fans in front of a hotel for hours. I miss the train going by every few minutes and being able to see the tip of the Tour Eiffel from my window and feeling like I could go anywhere and do anything. I know I had the best life ever and don't have the right to be miserable, but that just makes me hate myself for being so self-absorbed and ungrateful and then I'm even more miserable.
It was worse this weekend. Everyone was in Epernay and everyone is telling me how great it was and how much they missed me and I just can't. In all the weekends since I've been gone only one person has managed to talk to Patrice. It was Véronique, the mother of that precious child who made me the bracelets, and she said "I almost missed him. I just stopped him as he was running to get into the shuttle to leave for the show. He seems very shy and it's downright irresistable when you think about what a big strapping guy he is. I made him sign the picture of the three of us at Rouen. As soon as my scanner works I'll send it to you." Yeah, I bet it says "Amicalement, Patrice Maktav." Unless she's lucky and he put "Friendly".
Aaaand writing that paragraph just inspired me to flop onto one side, curl up, and sob. So much that I had to leave the laptop and go find the box of tissues my mother bought me three weeks ago that I hadn't had to open yet.
Usually when I get too down I can work on my little book thing but right now I just feel awful about everything. This housing thing isn't working out in any direction and I can't deal with it and my broken heart and my self-loathing and how much I hate being back here.
Today a customer told me how much she liked my dress and I got to be all swank and say "Thanks, I got it at-- oh, in Paris!" and then I was like "Yeah, I just got back three weeks ago." And then I realised that soon it'll be a month ago, and then it'll be a year ago, and then it'll be one time I lived in Paris and I'm supposed to get over it and be okay with where I am and move on.
I hate being here. I thought I would get home and remember how great everything was and be so happy to be reunited with chicken nuggets and ranch dressing and air conditioning but I was wrong. I can't stand it, any of it. I don't care if I never eat Kraft macaroni and cheese again, but if I never walk into a fnac again I won't be okay. I hate this so much.
It's not the people, of course I love my friends and my family but it's not enough to make up for everything I lost when I got on that plane and turned off my French cell phone for the last time.
I'm disabling comments because I know what you're going to say, you're going to say it gets better and I shouldn't be sad because I should be content with the memories of what an unparalleled time I had in France, and I'm so sorry and I know you mean well but I don't want to hear any of it. I want to hear that there's an easy way to get back and everything will be as good as it used to be and I'll feel good about myself and attractive and interesting and likeable and in-control again, but right now I don't even know where I'll be living in a month and I'm slowly seeing that there's almost no hope for me to ever be that happy again
If one more damn person tells me I'll find someone in my own country I-- I was going to say I'll cry but since tears and snot are running down my face while I type this that's not much of a threat. And I usually end that sentence with "I'll drive off a bridge" or something hyperbolic but I don't have a car which is most of the problem anyway
At the cinema today I saw the end of One Night in Paris and frikkin Owen Wilson was sitting at the bookstore right next to my classroom where I always filled up my water bottle at the Wallace Fountain and then he just up and proclaimed that he was moving to Paris and he strolled off onto Pont Alexandre III and the Tour Eiffel was being all sparkly and I was waiting to pick up trash when the movie let out but I saw my bridge and I saw my Wallace Fountain and it actually made my chest clench and I sort of dry sobbed right there in the theatre but it passed in time for me to put on a smile and do my job. But all I could think about all the way home was how he just moved to Paris, just like that, and it made me sick. Between that and Epernay and all the dead ends on housing I just broke down. Which is why this post exists. I just want to be back now. I want to have more thant twenty dollars in my bank account and I want to feel like I matter again.
As soon as I'm out the doors my self-pity comes back. The longer I think about it the more ridiculous it gets and then I just start crying for half a second and then I stop but now my nose is running and I feel like a jerk. I miss France. I miss being in Paris. I miss Patrice Maktav caring about me. I miss how right I felt when I was giggling with other fans in front of a hotel for hours. I miss the train going by every few minutes and being able to see the tip of the Tour Eiffel from my window and feeling like I could go anywhere and do anything. I know I had the best life ever and don't have the right to be miserable, but that just makes me hate myself for being so self-absorbed and ungrateful and then I'm even more miserable.
It was worse this weekend. Everyone was in Epernay and everyone is telling me how great it was and how much they missed me and I just can't. In all the weekends since I've been gone only one person has managed to talk to Patrice. It was Véronique, the mother of that precious child who made me the bracelets, and she said "I almost missed him. I just stopped him as he was running to get into the shuttle to leave for the show. He seems very shy and it's downright irresistable when you think about what a big strapping guy he is. I made him sign the picture of the three of us at Rouen. As soon as my scanner works I'll send it to you." Yeah, I bet it says "Amicalement, Patrice Maktav." Unless she's lucky and he put "Friendly".
Aaaand writing that paragraph just inspired me to flop onto one side, curl up, and sob. So much that I had to leave the laptop and go find the box of tissues my mother bought me three weeks ago that I hadn't had to open yet.
Usually when I get too down I can work on my little book thing but right now I just feel awful about everything. This housing thing isn't working out in any direction and I can't deal with it and my broken heart and my self-loathing and how much I hate being back here.
Today a customer told me how much she liked my dress and I got to be all swank and say "Thanks, I got it at-- oh, in Paris!" and then I was like "Yeah, I just got back three weeks ago." And then I realised that soon it'll be a month ago, and then it'll be a year ago, and then it'll be one time I lived in Paris and I'm supposed to get over it and be okay with where I am and move on.
I hate being here. I thought I would get home and remember how great everything was and be so happy to be reunited with chicken nuggets and ranch dressing and air conditioning but I was wrong. I can't stand it, any of it. I don't care if I never eat Kraft macaroni and cheese again, but if I never walk into a fnac again I won't be okay. I hate this so much.
It's not the people, of course I love my friends and my family but it's not enough to make up for everything I lost when I got on that plane and turned off my French cell phone for the last time.
I'm disabling comments because I know what you're going to say, you're going to say it gets better and I shouldn't be sad because I should be content with the memories of what an unparalleled time I had in France, and I'm so sorry and I know you mean well but I don't want to hear any of it. I want to hear that there's an easy way to get back and everything will be as good as it used to be and I'll feel good about myself and attractive and interesting and likeable and in-control again, but right now I don't even know where I'll be living in a month and I'm slowly seeing that there's almost no hope for me to ever be that happy again
If one more damn person tells me I'll find someone in my own country I-- I was going to say I'll cry but since tears and snot are running down my face while I type this that's not much of a threat. And I usually end that sentence with "I'll drive off a bridge" or something hyperbolic but I don't have a car which is most of the problem anyway
At the cinema today I saw the end of One Night in Paris and frikkin Owen Wilson was sitting at the bookstore right next to my classroom where I always filled up my water bottle at the Wallace Fountain and then he just up and proclaimed that he was moving to Paris and he strolled off onto Pont Alexandre III and the Tour Eiffel was being all sparkly and I was waiting to pick up trash when the movie let out but I saw my bridge and I saw my Wallace Fountain and it actually made my chest clench and I sort of dry sobbed right there in the theatre but it passed in time for me to put on a smile and do my job. But all I could think about all the way home was how he just moved to Paris, just like that, and it made me sick. Between that and Epernay and all the dead ends on housing I just broke down. Which is why this post exists. I just want to be back now. I want to have more thant twenty dollars in my bank account and I want to feel like I matter again.