This morning was a perfect surprise. A surprise, and perfect, because I woke up earlier than expected, and got to work with a pain viennois in hand and time to spare to come in, get a hot chocolate and sit down to have it, and to make the acquaintance of another colleague, who introduced me to bergamot sweets. And the bus driver was a perfect gentleman, Fortune bless him.
I’ve discovered I can’t see either of the plays I wanted to this week – Une puce à l’oreille is sold out this week, and Cyrano de Bergerac only starts next week, and if I’m honest, the only date and time I could really make is their Saturday 2nd December performance at 2pm. They have two matinées next week during work days, so there’s not a chance of my making those, but the evening performances are at 8pm, and le Théâtre de Ranelagh being very much across town, and the play being 2 hours long, and my kind of having a curfew, and work, I’m having to make not-very-reckless decisions and wait.
I would make a reckless decision and see Fall Out Boy, but it may be just as well the tickets are sold out.
I’ll have my hands full, friends, in any case. Here come the two weeks where I replace my boss as Office Manager in all but name. I have a deadline for my linguistics project coming up. And on the 3rd, I am going Home for the weekend. My life feels divided between work and getting home and getting ready for bed. Never more have I felt like “boulot, metro, dodo (tombeau)” is truer. I had more freedom waiting tables, and I made more money, too. Which is not to say I don’t love my job, but I feel short on time and post-work satisfaction. I calculated that I don’t legitimately follow the German model of the equal, 8-hour segment “work-play-sleep” day. I also figured that I may be still a small child and require more than 8 hours sleep. Result: 8 hours at work (in an ideal day) + 2 hours commute either way (once again, ideal) + 9 hours sleep (as if I, the bare-minimum girl, will cave) = 5 hours of free time (in an ideal world). Of which at least 1 hour cooking and consuming dinner, which is also next day’s lunch, and 1 hour getting ready in the morning. So technically, 3 hours of play, if I do well. The efficiency of all of this needs to be drastically reviewed, or I just need to be grateful for what I have. Maybe it’s time I count my blessings I didn’t get into medical school.
I finished my translation today, thank goodness, though I worked overtime for it. I sincerely hope the head of our Legal team likes it. My boss has also been showing me things I can do whilst she’s away – basically, acute organisation of office files. Do I rue the day I organised our visitor logs? Maybe somewhat. Can I carry the same level of enthusiasm and efficiency? If you pay me in pastries, we might reach a compromise.
I needed small change to pay the bus fare, so, having decided against going and doing the weekly shop, or at least some of it, frazzled from that devil of a text, I pop into the bakery I bought breakfast at this morning, and buy macarons, which are usually a present for a decent sized party, and an almond pain au chocolat (which may have been just what I needed). The macarons are 8, and I carried them all the way home. Not able to find a bench that wasn’t next to a playground, and I really don’t look that young or rebellious any more (the DMs and clueless, childlike expression don’t count – they almost contradict eachother), so I leant against a tree and watched the trains pass as I ate the pain au chocolat. The frangipane delectably buttery. Goodness how I shall miss this luxury when my internship ends, because UK pastries are far more expensive on the whole, and definitely not worth it.
Well, I also bought the macarons because I finished my first ever translation for a firm, and in my opinion
You should celebrate your successes, even if in a small way.
And I’m gonna leave you with that, darlings, because I’m watching a small child’s fingers tippity-tappity-type away at a phonescreen, and I think it may be her bedtime soon.
In another post, once I read the text, maybe once I watch the play, too, I will need to tell you about Cyrano de Bergerac.
Right, tiny intern – bedtime.
At Least Afloat 