There are many things that happen in
springtime, one of which is the fact that I am finally, at long last,
after months of being enslaved by what some might refer to as jeans
(or most pants in general), freed from the shackles that bind me in
oppression for frosty months on end. I frankly just never feel myself
amidst the winter months. I love the holidays, I enjoy the shimmer of
snowflakes dancing in the wind for approximately a day and a half,
after which time my body seems to absorb all coldness in a fifty mile
radius and I spend the months of January through April in a rather
melancholy state of imprisonment. When springtime arrives, however,
(oh sweet decadent spring!) my entire demeanor shifts and I tend more
toward the behaviour I sometimes embrace whilst intoxicated... I want
to sing poetry while standing on chairs and tell everyone I love
them.
This past weekend, the weather spiked
up into the 70's (Fahrenheit of course) once again and I officially
inaugurated my summer dresses for the season. This of course meant
that I had to wander into Forever 21 and buy a new dress to
commemorate the occasion after going a little overboard at Sephora.
Following that, however, I had a small picnic with a couple of
friends in Parc Montsouris, a place I've never been to before, a bit
further down in the south of Paris. Not a massive park, but really
beautiful and my friends and I responsibly practiced our French for
about an hour before switching back to English, all the while eating
cheeses, sipping red wine, and indulging in the petit pastries I
found at a local patisserie near one of my student's apartments. I
had several students over the weekend, wine with friends both Friday
and Saturday nights, and was finally able to spend Sunday evening
research-paper-free for the first time in several weeks.
Not only that, but this is my last week
of classes, huzzah! As the infection of grammatical plague has
continued to spread throughout my classmates and myself, I frankly
give us all a wild amount of credit for not spontaneously combusting
via pronouns or prepositions. Saturday is our big final exam, Monday
our oral assessment (which is fascinating since we never practice
conversation in class ever never... ever...) and then we are
free...What say you?! Oh, yes... FREEEEEEEE!!! Free from yet another
pair of venomous shackles, often sugarcoated in French pastried
confusion because the language itself seems so beautiful on the
surface until gluten intolerance makes you want to rip your stomach
out during the aftermath. This is how I feel about the French
language at present... Oh so twinkly and romantic when you hear it,
until excessive analyzation reveals the bitchy tyrant behind the mask
of song. I could continue with various metaphors until the end of
time, but the point being that in just one week I will escape the
grammatical Bastille and be free... Oh yup that rhymed... Poem and/or
song forthcoming...
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