What Rebecca writes while waiting on her laundry.
So I never did write more after I got back to the lycee on Tuesday. I really haven't been writing in this journal as often as I mean to. Note to self: Must resolve to do better!
It's Sunday now, and school starts tomorrow. I've been meaning to do my laundry all vacation, and I've kept putting it off, so I'm finally doing it now, on the last day. I'm sitting here on a chair in the laundromat while my clothes wash, writing this on top of my suitcase, which is what I haul my clothes to the laundromat in. When Marlene saw me leaving the lycee with my suitcase earlier, she opened her window and shouted to me, "Rebecca, where are you going?" She thought I was leaving to travel somewhere and couldn't believe it, since today is the last day of vacation and I've got to teach tomorrow. But I told her I was just going to do my laundry, and she laughed.
The laundromat is empty except for me right now, which is how I like it, but it isn't usually this empty, especially on Sundays. Of course most people put their clothes in the washer or drier, leave, and come back later. But since I don't have a car and it's too far to walk, I sit here and wait. I usually read a French Baby-Sitters Club book while I wait, but today I'm writing in this, obviously.
I know it sounds crazy, but I really had to tear myself away from the washing machine to come write in this instead. I just love watching the water and soap and clothes through the little front window. So hypnotic. And I love listening to all the noises the machine makes, gurgles and slushes and hisses.
It's late afternoon. Through the glass front behind me I can see the last of the sunlight still hanging onto the tops of the old buildings and chimneys across the street. I love the old stone buildings in the centre-ville. They're not very pretty, but most of them are 100-150 years old. I love looking at them and imagining them looking down on women in long dresses and men in suits in the 1900's or even before. The two old stone buildings across the street are houses now, but I can still see red painted letters on the front of them, advertising for businesses that used to be in those buildings who knows how long ago.
The washing machine is done. I have to move my clothes over to the drier.
I found a pair of tiny baby socks just now while I was moving my clothes over. Whoever used that machine before me must have forgotten them. Last November (I think) I lost the purple shirt Mom gave me that way, by leaving it in this laundromat by accident. And I'm still pissed off about it! I really loved that shirt.
I can't believe it's already February and almost March. My time in France is going by so quickly. I am going to miss the other assistants all so much. Especially Marlene. It's so upsetting that I can't even think about it anymore.
I had meant to go to Paris last Monday and Tuesday, but I overslept those days and went on Wednesday and Friday instead. I hadn't been able to get to sleep because I felt so hot, like I had a fever. I realize now it was because it was just before my period, and my body always feels hotter then. On Wednesday, I saw Atonement and walked around the eighth arrondissement. On Friday, I visited the Holocaust Memorial Museum and walked around the first arrondissement, which was much nicer than the eighth, of course. I was struck by something Marlene said to me after I told her I had visited the museum. She said, "I hope you don't hate me now." I know she didn't seriously expect me to hate her - as if I could ever hate Marlene - but I think a comment like that just goes to show the kind of guilt that Germany is still living with. Even hip young modern Germans like Marlene, who's as innocent as the new-fallen snow and no more guilty of the Holocaust than I am, feel obliged to say something like that, not just to me but to the world.
[Transcribed from my paper journal.]
It's Sunday now, and school starts tomorrow. I've been meaning to do my laundry all vacation, and I've kept putting it off, so I'm finally doing it now, on the last day. I'm sitting here on a chair in the laundromat while my clothes wash, writing this on top of my suitcase, which is what I haul my clothes to the laundromat in. When Marlene saw me leaving the lycee with my suitcase earlier, she opened her window and shouted to me, "Rebecca, where are you going?" She thought I was leaving to travel somewhere and couldn't believe it, since today is the last day of vacation and I've got to teach tomorrow. But I told her I was just going to do my laundry, and she laughed.
The laundromat is empty except for me right now, which is how I like it, but it isn't usually this empty, especially on Sundays. Of course most people put their clothes in the washer or drier, leave, and come back later. But since I don't have a car and it's too far to walk, I sit here and wait. I usually read a French Baby-Sitters Club book while I wait, but today I'm writing in this, obviously.
I know it sounds crazy, but I really had to tear myself away from the washing machine to come write in this instead. I just love watching the water and soap and clothes through the little front window. So hypnotic. And I love listening to all the noises the machine makes, gurgles and slushes and hisses.
It's late afternoon. Through the glass front behind me I can see the last of the sunlight still hanging onto the tops of the old buildings and chimneys across the street. I love the old stone buildings in the centre-ville. They're not very pretty, but most of them are 100-150 years old. I love looking at them and imagining them looking down on women in long dresses and men in suits in the 1900's or even before. The two old stone buildings across the street are houses now, but I can still see red painted letters on the front of them, advertising for businesses that used to be in those buildings who knows how long ago.
The washing machine is done. I have to move my clothes over to the drier.
I found a pair of tiny baby socks just now while I was moving my clothes over. Whoever used that machine before me must have forgotten them. Last November (I think) I lost the purple shirt Mom gave me that way, by leaving it in this laundromat by accident. And I'm still pissed off about it! I really loved that shirt.
I can't believe it's already February and almost March. My time in France is going by so quickly. I am going to miss the other assistants all so much. Especially Marlene. It's so upsetting that I can't even think about it anymore.
I had meant to go to Paris last Monday and Tuesday, but I overslept those days and went on Wednesday and Friday instead. I hadn't been able to get to sleep because I felt so hot, like I had a fever. I realize now it was because it was just before my period, and my body always feels hotter then. On Wednesday, I saw Atonement and walked around the eighth arrondissement. On Friday, I visited the Holocaust Memorial Museum and walked around the first arrondissement, which was much nicer than the eighth, of course. I was struck by something Marlene said to me after I told her I had visited the museum. She said, "I hope you don't hate me now." I know she didn't seriously expect me to hate her - as if I could ever hate Marlene - but I think a comment like that just goes to show the kind of guilt that Germany is still living with. Even hip young modern Germans like Marlene, who's as innocent as the new-fallen snow and no more guilty of the Holocaust than I am, feel obliged to say something like that, not just to me but to the world.
[Transcribed from my paper journal.]