thoughts over the course of the day
6:30 am-
alarm goes off and she rolls over to stare at it long enough to realize that she's still not awake and doesn't know where she is. resets alarm and decides to take the day off from running.
8:15 am-
alarm goes off again and she barely remembers why. then, calls to mind the conversation from last night and how she didn't want to go to bed because that would mean she would have to wake up and do work. thus, remembers the huge amount of work that awaits her for the week. stares at the ceiling wondering if there is anyway she can remedy the situation. only solution that remains is this: it's sunday, she should be allowed to sleep as late as she wants (as long as she wakes up before 10am, because that's just too late. too late)
9:30 am-
no alarm goes off this time, but some noise from somewhere within the building in which she sleeps calls her out of her dreary slumber. in a way, a perfect time to wake up, in another way, not at all a perfect day to start off what will not be a perfect week.
11ish am-
conversations with sleepy dads make her feel a lot more productive than she actually is.
12-1 pm-
the now becoming normal sinking feeling in her stomach comes back as she tries to work on her art history paper on "l'évolution de la baigneuse dans l'histoire de la peinture française". the sinking feeling, an entirely new sort of sinking, is new to her in the way that it accompanies the looming feeling of failure that accompanies that which everyone likes to call her "class at the sorbonne". she finds excuses to stop researching and stare out the window or at a computer screen, in both cases being entirely useless.
2:00 pm-
he comes online and while his smirk can make her laugh, his presence still messes with her. she asks herself, "oh god, what is next year going to bring?"
6:00 pm-
sure, fast forward a couple hours of meaningless work and writing in red ink as she links together paintings of naked women that now hang somewhere in famous museums for people to look at and small children to wonder why someone would ever paint a woman like that. she finds herself wondering, "why the hell is there no one serious in my art history class? right when i need some help and would really rather not email the teacher again because it would seem that emails only bring me bad news... i could really use someone in my class that isn't crazy or actually cares." she tumbles down the stairs on two feet and engages in awkward conversation that can only leave her wondering with what she's going to emerge from this experience.
10:59 pm-
she realizes after talking to various friends from across an ocean that she really does miss the odd little things and she wonders if maybe that's why shes not making so many friends here. how can she make new friends if the ones she has are already all so great? the hour changes and she decides her concentration is done for and calls it a night, promising herself that she'll wake up early tomorrow with a fresh new perspective on how much the week is going to suck.
she takes a bow and bids adieu to the keypad that she's been tapping this all out on and wonders if anyone will trip over it in the months to come. because seriously, who reads this anymore?
good night moon.
good night eiffel tower.
good night cobblestone road.
good night orange blanket.
good night noisy drunk man in the street.
good night moon...
alarm goes off and she rolls over to stare at it long enough to realize that she's still not awake and doesn't know where she is. resets alarm and decides to take the day off from running.
8:15 am-
alarm goes off again and she barely remembers why. then, calls to mind the conversation from last night and how she didn't want to go to bed because that would mean she would have to wake up and do work. thus, remembers the huge amount of work that awaits her for the week. stares at the ceiling wondering if there is anyway she can remedy the situation. only solution that remains is this: it's sunday, she should be allowed to sleep as late as she wants (as long as she wakes up before 10am, because that's just too late. too late)
9:30 am-
no alarm goes off this time, but some noise from somewhere within the building in which she sleeps calls her out of her dreary slumber. in a way, a perfect time to wake up, in another way, not at all a perfect day to start off what will not be a perfect week.
11ish am-
conversations with sleepy dads make her feel a lot more productive than she actually is.
12-1 pm-
the now becoming normal sinking feeling in her stomach comes back as she tries to work on her art history paper on "l'évolution de la baigneuse dans l'histoire de la peinture française". the sinking feeling, an entirely new sort of sinking, is new to her in the way that it accompanies the looming feeling of failure that accompanies that which everyone likes to call her "class at the sorbonne". she finds excuses to stop researching and stare out the window or at a computer screen, in both cases being entirely useless.
2:00 pm-
he comes online and while his smirk can make her laugh, his presence still messes with her. she asks herself, "oh god, what is next year going to bring?"
6:00 pm-
sure, fast forward a couple hours of meaningless work and writing in red ink as she links together paintings of naked women that now hang somewhere in famous museums for people to look at and small children to wonder why someone would ever paint a woman like that. she finds herself wondering, "why the hell is there no one serious in my art history class? right when i need some help and would really rather not email the teacher again because it would seem that emails only bring me bad news... i could really use someone in my class that isn't crazy or actually cares." she tumbles down the stairs on two feet and engages in awkward conversation that can only leave her wondering with what she's going to emerge from this experience.
10:59 pm-
she realizes after talking to various friends from across an ocean that she really does miss the odd little things and she wonders if maybe that's why shes not making so many friends here. how can she make new friends if the ones she has are already all so great? the hour changes and she decides her concentration is done for and calls it a night, promising herself that she'll wake up early tomorrow with a fresh new perspective on how much the week is going to suck.
she takes a bow and bids adieu to the keypad that she's been tapping this all out on and wonders if anyone will trip over it in the months to come. because seriously, who reads this anymore?
good night moon.
good night eiffel tower.
good night cobblestone road.
good night orange blanket.
good night noisy drunk man in the street.
good night moon...