I had invitations for a variety of activities , but I needed some time to myself. Decided to do wash and try a language school. I did get through to one and was advised to take the test immediately if I wanted to start next week. I did as I was told, and, with great difficulty, took the test on my phone. It corrected the spelling for almost every word, forcing me to begin again, and again, and again- a 30 minute test done in an hour and a half. Using my phone for everything digital such as maintaining this blog takes forever. Using the computer in the Mediatheque means using a French keyboard, another frustration. After those grueling experiences, the washing machine skipped the spin cycle: everything had to be rung out by hand.
I had to get out.
More chores. I went to the Monoprix on Boulevard St. Michel in search of a few glasses (one for drinking, one for flowers, one to hold pens and pencils), a soap dish, and some basic utensils. I forgot to bring my swiss army knife. Not a successful experience, certainly it isn’t anything like the Monoprix I frequented in Aix: no glasses, no soap dish, no utensils. I walked out with a bar of soap and a dried out palmier, as again, I forgot to eat lunch.
The day was saved on my way home. Carts of sale books surrounded the front of Librairie Gilbert Joseph, a bookstore on Boulevard St. Michel. Marguerite Duras stared back at me. Surely a sign. The first in three days. Lack of water, technical challanges, and searching language schools saboutaged 72 hours.
Finally, I bought some glasses at a local hardware store, some wine, nuts, and a bottle opener at the local Franprix, retrieved the luque olives purchased at Marche Bastille, and sat in the Irish College’s courtyard reading my newly purchased book on Duras in French. Pas Mal.