Never mind, I'll find someone like you
Jobwise I am kicking ass and taking names. Well, one name specifically: Nilou the Nightmare Child. Since the family tore me apart last week I have put my damn self back together with a full burst of Place je passe glory. I am juggling and going the extra mile and trying to battle my tendency to "do it in a minute" which results in piles of laundry in my room and chores slipping my mind. It's already super effective: just now when I changed into my pyjamas I hung my dress up and put my tights away in a drawer and folded my sweater and put it back on the shelf. Two weeks ago you can bet your ass all that would have been shoved into a pile on the edge of the bed. And it wasn't even an effort: I'm typing this out because when I sat down just now and noticed I had put my pyjamas on (um, yikes) I was like shit what did I do with the dress and then I remembered putting it on the hanger without a second thought. If after an entire life of letting things pile and pile I can finally learn to get shit done promptly, I bet I can do anything with my future.
Secondly, Nilou the Nightmare Child loves me more every time I make an entry about him. I look back with a sympathetic smile on the early days when he refused to put on his jacket and pitched a fit in the halls of the school or screamed and clawed at me when I tried to get him into the bath. Yesterday morning he refused to eat breakfast because I wasn't at the table yet and refused to get dressed until I came upstairs to help him pick out his socks. Today I was able to put him down for a nap with no fighting, just a lot of playing when he should have been resting, and when he woke up instead of crying and calling for maman he called for me and then asked when maman would be home. When I said soon he asked if I could come play marbles with him. Today at lunch Mimi asked who he thought was nicer, me or Shantelle, and when the mother's and my protests of "Oh no, no Mimi, you don't ask a question like that, that's so rude" died down, Nilou very seriously muttered "Ehreen." I know the parents will write it off as Oh well, he's older this year, Oh well, Ehreen spends more time with him, but screw that. I am better with the kids than she is. I'm not better with responsibility, but I'm better at bonding with them and relating to them so HMPH. And I also think I'm better than the parents at setting down rules and making them follow through with things, but hey.
And speaking of the parents, this evening when the mom came in and saw that, as with every day this week, I had done all the chores necessary and dinner was on the stove and the kids were already in their pyjamas, she literally danced around the kitchen saying "parfait" and I'm happy and clapping her hands and smiling at me. HA. HA HA. YEAH I'LL SHOW YOU TO DOUBT ME... SELF. I'LL SHOW YOU ALL. I CAN *DO* SHIT AND I WILL *NOT* BE DEFEATED AFTER COMING ALL THIS WAY.
Socially, I'm faltering. I've made a few tentative steps toward making a few tentative steps toward making friends, but it's intimidating and gross to have to deal with it alone. If I could find some kind of a club thingy to join that might work. I've had a lot of trouble with the French friends I've made because I don't trust ANY of the French fans except one who is several years older than me and lives in a different city. The others I may love but am still suspicious of. I think the easiest would be to make friends with Americans or other such foreigners who are living here. They could give me advice and I could know how to read them. I'm a really good judge of character but that radar gets damaged when it has to cross a language barrier. We were told last year as students to try to avoid foreigners and mingle with locals, but now that I'm trying to become a foreign local I see finding a group of people with a similar background as a pretty good idea.
Romatically, I'm withering. The longest I'd ever gone without hearing from him was five days, and it has now been twelve. I know I could do better but I can't even find normal friends, so how am I supposed to find someone as attractive as him who is also less difficult to deal with? All of the emotional romance stuff is gone from the equation now and it's just boiled down to attraction, which I think is better considering how unavailable he is, but the problem is I still don't have a plan B. It took me five months to break him in and we were pals before that... that's a lot of work for only two hours of clumsy payoff. I don't even know any other attractive men, famous ones notwithstanding. But I can't keep throwing myself at him and letting him think it's okay to walk all over me. I am one of the only people left who knows about the situation who doesn't think he's a giant douchebag and that makes me feel terrible for making a big show of slamming the door once he was out of earshot and then checking every day to make sure I left it unlocked. I took in the welcome mat but I didn't hide the key.
So I did what I do best and turned to the weird innate superstition in me. One month from the last time he texted me is December 4th, which is also the anniversary of the first day I really noticed him as a person. Funny how that works. I will wait and stop checking my phone until that day. If he hasn't noticed that he is letting something that most humans of the stereotypically male persuasion could only fantasize about wander out of his life through sheer idiocy by then--by which I mean, if he hasn't texted me by then--I *will* make a real decision. Maybe I'll be so angry at him by then that I won't want to ever speak to him again. Maybe I'll convince myself that he needs a long message explaining my feelings. I don't know. I'm going to wait. Having a goal in mind makes it less open-ended, which makes the silence less final, which makes it less scary. It also means I don't need to fret or try to make a decision for several weeks, during which time I can work on that whole social life thing, and who knows, maybe I'll find one of the jillions of people out there who are better at life than he is.
Today I was thinking about the first time I heard Grenade by Bruno Mars and how I immediately thought he was singing about my love for Florent Mothe. I then realized with great satisfaction that I would NOT catch a grenade for my Frenchman. I honestly believe, without trying to sound snotty, that between the two of us, I'm the one who would be missed by more people. Now if it *was* Florent Mothe you can bet your ass that there will be pieces of flabby American all over the damn place and one very shocked French rock star picking pasty flesh out of his beard for a few hours. But for my Frenchman... no. I would not catch a Grenade for ya, and you won't do the same.
There. Update.
Secondly, Nilou the Nightmare Child loves me more every time I make an entry about him. I look back with a sympathetic smile on the early days when he refused to put on his jacket and pitched a fit in the halls of the school or screamed and clawed at me when I tried to get him into the bath. Yesterday morning he refused to eat breakfast because I wasn't at the table yet and refused to get dressed until I came upstairs to help him pick out his socks. Today I was able to put him down for a nap with no fighting, just a lot of playing when he should have been resting, and when he woke up instead of crying and calling for maman he called for me and then asked when maman would be home. When I said soon he asked if I could come play marbles with him. Today at lunch Mimi asked who he thought was nicer, me or Shantelle, and when the mother's and my protests of "Oh no, no Mimi, you don't ask a question like that, that's so rude" died down, Nilou very seriously muttered "Ehreen." I know the parents will write it off as Oh well, he's older this year, Oh well, Ehreen spends more time with him, but screw that. I am better with the kids than she is. I'm not better with responsibility, but I'm better at bonding with them and relating to them so HMPH. And I also think I'm better than the parents at setting down rules and making them follow through with things, but hey.
And speaking of the parents, this evening when the mom came in and saw that, as with every day this week, I had done all the chores necessary and dinner was on the stove and the kids were already in their pyjamas, she literally danced around the kitchen saying "parfait" and I'm happy and clapping her hands and smiling at me. HA. HA HA. YEAH I'LL SHOW YOU TO DOUBT ME... SELF. I'LL SHOW YOU ALL. I CAN *DO* SHIT AND I WILL *NOT* BE DEFEATED AFTER COMING ALL THIS WAY.
Socially, I'm faltering. I've made a few tentative steps toward making a few tentative steps toward making friends, but it's intimidating and gross to have to deal with it alone. If I could find some kind of a club thingy to join that might work. I've had a lot of trouble with the French friends I've made because I don't trust ANY of the French fans except one who is several years older than me and lives in a different city. The others I may love but am still suspicious of. I think the easiest would be to make friends with Americans or other such foreigners who are living here. They could give me advice and I could know how to read them. I'm a really good judge of character but that radar gets damaged when it has to cross a language barrier. We were told last year as students to try to avoid foreigners and mingle with locals, but now that I'm trying to become a foreign local I see finding a group of people with a similar background as a pretty good idea.
Romatically, I'm withering. The longest I'd ever gone without hearing from him was five days, and it has now been twelve. I know I could do better but I can't even find normal friends, so how am I supposed to find someone as attractive as him who is also less difficult to deal with? All of the emotional romance stuff is gone from the equation now and it's just boiled down to attraction, which I think is better considering how unavailable he is, but the problem is I still don't have a plan B. It took me five months to break him in and we were pals before that... that's a lot of work for only two hours of clumsy payoff. I don't even know any other attractive men, famous ones notwithstanding. But I can't keep throwing myself at him and letting him think it's okay to walk all over me. I am one of the only people left who knows about the situation who doesn't think he's a giant douchebag and that makes me feel terrible for making a big show of slamming the door once he was out of earshot and then checking every day to make sure I left it unlocked. I took in the welcome mat but I didn't hide the key.
So I did what I do best and turned to the weird innate superstition in me. One month from the last time he texted me is December 4th, which is also the anniversary of the first day I really noticed him as a person. Funny how that works. I will wait and stop checking my phone until that day. If he hasn't noticed that he is letting something that most humans of the stereotypically male persuasion could only fantasize about wander out of his life through sheer idiocy by then--by which I mean, if he hasn't texted me by then--I *will* make a real decision. Maybe I'll be so angry at him by then that I won't want to ever speak to him again. Maybe I'll convince myself that he needs a long message explaining my feelings. I don't know. I'm going to wait. Having a goal in mind makes it less open-ended, which makes the silence less final, which makes it less scary. It also means I don't need to fret or try to make a decision for several weeks, during which time I can work on that whole social life thing, and who knows, maybe I'll find one of the jillions of people out there who are better at life than he is.
Today I was thinking about the first time I heard Grenade by Bruno Mars and how I immediately thought he was singing about my love for Florent Mothe. I then realized with great satisfaction that I would NOT catch a grenade for my Frenchman. I honestly believe, without trying to sound snotty, that between the two of us, I'm the one who would be missed by more people. Now if it *was* Florent Mothe you can bet your ass that there will be pieces of flabby American all over the damn place and one very shocked French rock star picking pasty flesh out of his beard for a few hours. But for my Frenchman... no. I would not catch a Grenade for ya, and you won't do the same.
There. Update.