i'll bring my teapot if you bring the stars

I wanted to go to bed early tonight but I’m having trouble sleeping. Popped a Melatonin and sat down here, in front of this garishly lit computer screen, because my hand aches too much to write with a pen and paper.

One of my neighbors is playing soft music on his guitar. Soft from where I sit, anyway. It’s leaking in through my window with the accompaniment of laughter that trickles in from the street and the whoosh of cars that pass outside.

Do you know what it feels like? Those moments when you just feel “off” for no particular reason? It feels like limbo between two extremes. I’m buzzing, mind full of incomplete thoughts about nothing at all, but my body is tired or wants to be, I’m not sure. I’m not unhappy by any means. Just unsettled.

And the last day-and-a-half has been so amazing, too. A whirl. I finished classes on Wednesday and skipped straight to the tram with Alexandra and Gudrun, who introduced me to a couple of tucked-away vintage shops that I wished I had found myself seasons ago. I’ve been very frugal since my ATM debacle* in London, but I rummaged through a packed floor-to-ceiling thrift store before I treated myself to a striped sundress with no tag and uneven seams that prove it was homemade, along with two summery cotton tops, both in shades of blue (in keeping with EVERY OTHER ARTICLE OF CLOTHING I OWN) that will look great with jeans.

Friday night, after nipping home to pull my sticky hair up off my neck, slip into one of my new blouses and a pair of espadrilles and rub a bit of perfume behind my earlobes to cover the summer skin smell I’d been cultivating all day, I was back in town to celebrate Hillary’s birthday with friends at a small Lebanese restaurant in the St. Pierre quarter. The food was delicious if not a bit overpriced, but we feasted on parsley-heavy taboulé and warm, fresh falafel drizzled in tahini sauce. Afterwards we wandered to Milo’s Café, a tiny, unpretentious bar where I had spent an afternoon on my first Sunday in Bordeaux with Colin, Stephanie and Jonah. A round of very diverse drinks later and it was almost midnight. Veronica and I left the others and headed our own separate directions before the tram turned into a pumpkin.

This morning I let myself sleep in until half past nine and passed a slow morning reading and enjoying the sun in my room. It was a warm and sugary sun, the kind that’s so absolutely delicious that you want nothing more than to disrobe, spread out and let it soak into your skin to replace any trace of winter that’s left there. Gudrun came over in the afternoon and, equipped with books and towels and blankets and sunglasses and sunblock and swimsuits and sundresses and beach bags and chapstick and a frisbee, we walked to Christophe’s place in Village 3 to meet him and Raymond for an afternoon trip to the beach. As soon as we got in the car, the clouds started setting in. By the time we arrived at the beach of Le Grand Cahot, the wind had picked up carrying the smell that announces rainstorms. We trudged along the path that cut through the beach grass. The sight of the water, slate blue and vast, put sprite in our step and we were soon camped on our towels and blankets, optimistically baring pale ankles to the absent sun. We didn’t read the books we’d brought, nor did we dare compete with the wind in a game of frisbee. Instead we talked about books and movies, our professors and fellow classmates. After a while, I don’t know how long, the wind picked up stronger and we decided to pack up and leave. Soon after climbing back into the car and delighting in its warmth, we were back on the road and bits of blue sky taunted us as we rolled through fields broken by pines. The longer we drove, France Bleu Gironde radio in the background, the more sun and blue sky we saw. It was after five and late-afternoon hunger had set in. We talked about split pea and potato soup at Karl, burgers at the Frog and Rosbif, steak et frites near Cour Victor Hugo. In the end, we parked outside Village 3 and parted ways. I came home and ate spinach with salt and grape seed oil drizzled on top with a bit of bread and yogurt.

The rest of tonight is a blur; unimportant really. I didn’t do anything special. The heat and sun gave it a dog-days-of-summer type of lull that I relish for it’s glorification of laziness. No work but no play either.

And here I am, beating out my overflowing mind to the sound of my fingers falling on a keyboard. My computer clock reads 23:23, and I think I’m finally ready to close my eyes. Not to sleep, not just yet. I know myself too well.

I’m excited to see what tomorrow brings.


*For those of you whom I haven't already filled in, a dishonest ATM in London ripped me off for 113€. The explanation is complicated, but the important bit is that those smart bankers know it'd cost me for than 113€ to pursue the matter, so they're keeping my moolah.