Malade, malade, malade… (NEUF)

Who lied and said that Nyquil helps you sleep for EIGHT hours?! I took it eight hours before I was supposed to get up this morning, and I’m pretty sure I woke up at four in the morning, tossing, tousser and I was not able to get back to sleep. I definitely could have used those two hours I lost. Needless to say, j’étais prêt de tuer une putain. For those of you that like French idiomatic expressions, that was not one of them. This one is. Je suis devenu chêvre. That’s right, I was so upset over losing my sleep this morning… you turn into a goat when that happens in France… I remembered I had some allergy medication that wasn’t supposed to make me drowsy from America, so I took some of it, then I headed out to the kitchen for breakfast with Sheila. I had some of my honey-lemon tea since we’ve run out of the normal stuff, and with how sore my throat is (and how bad my coughing is), I could really use it. Madame came out to join us when we were just about done with our breakfast. Thankfully, she didn’t mention anything about how seemingly lazy we are and how we don’t like culture because we don’t go to museums whenever we aren’t on a plane to some other part of Europe. I reminded her that we have our final theatre piece to see for class tonight (Un chapeau de paille d’Italie by Labiche) and that I would like to have dinner a little early if possible, but I could go grab something elsewhere if it wasn’t going to work out. She said she’d try to come home and find something for me if she could, but if not, she’d shoot me a text so I could grab something on my way to the theatre.

I saw on my météo that it was supposedly -7 degrees Celsius outside before I left. In California, that means the world is ending, much less that school is in session at that time. I mentioned that I got my care package from my mom yesterday, and even though I only have 10 days left before I come home, it couldn’t have come at a better time. Never in my life did I think I’d be more excited to see thermal underwear in a package… I had it on today, and it helped a bit. I headed off to class in my normal state of gelée, glancing at myself in the mirrored windows on my way to the metro, half-amused-half-terrified at my bright red nose. I guess it’s a little festive by this time of year… I’m silently glad I only really have to endure this for nine more days…

Class was very uneventful. Professor Clavier came up to me before we started and struck up a conversation with me in English again. “So next week is your last class.” “Ouais… je suis malheuruse…” “Really? You don’t want to leave?” “Mais non! J’adore France! J’adore Paris!” “But you miss your family and California, don’t you?” “…bien sûr… c’est plus chaud en Californie…” Professor Clavier is a pretty cool guy. It turns out he toured all over the United States doing theatre in the 70’s. He told me he missed one of his flights by 30 minutes, and it was a good thing he did… it crashed in Boise and 127 people died. “Vous avez de la chance!” (You’re lucky!) His sister lives in New Hampshire, so he goes back to visit her every once in a while. French Theatre professors are the best. I’m really glad I decided to take as much theatre as I did while I was here, I’ve learned a lot about how the “French method” works, and I know I’ll be able to apply it when I get home and get to work on my senior project next year. I think it’ll be good for my American actors to learn a new method through me, and I’m super excited to show it to them. Once class got going, Professor Clavier had a few of us do a warm up where you walked from the back of the room to the front of it, then looked at the audience, and talked about what you felt. The reactions were interesting. Ruxandra (our director) was sick today, so we had to take things into our own hands for our L’Indotée piece. I’m not in this one, so I didn’t do much past offer my two cents.

I headed home after that, stopping by Carrefour on my way home to pick up some lunch and a banana for Sheila. I grabbed some paella and an apple for myself. I felt horrible by the time I got home, I’d been coughing all through class, and not the kind of coughs you can mask either. These suckers were LOUD. I’d made up my mind to eat, then take some Dayquil and take a nap for a couple hours (since that stuff inevitably makes you drowsy even though it’s not supposed to) before I got set up and did some serious work on my final project for Mme. Hersant. Sheila and I talked about how we wanted the dynamic of our apartment to work when we move back to America, and where we wanted to look since Sheila will be in the area of the college before I will. I think it’ll work quite well, despite Sheila’s random urges to disinfect things. Maybe I’ll like that…

I woke up at about 5:45 to work on my project. I’d made up my mind to lie to Madame and say that I had done some work at Sweet Briar and that I wasn’t at home as long as I was. Even though it’s clear that I’m ill, something tells me she’d be upset that I was home at all, even if I was trying to rest and get better. After all, I could be in some museum somewhere, soaking in the culture while the paintings and sculptures soak in my germs…

Madame made it home in time to make me a quick potato omelet. As simple as it is, they’re still really good! I headed off to Comédie Française for the final time at 7:30. Sheila was already in her seat when I got there. After what I’d studied, I was pretty sure I was going to enjoy the piece. I could have used a good laugh despite myself, after all I’ve been through. Mme. Hersant advised us to take notes during the piece so we could use our notes at our sitting final a week or so from now, so I had my notebook with me. I took a lot of notes, and the piece was so enjoyable. It’s a wonderfully written comedy in itself, and the piece was done with a sort of rock-and-roll feel to it, so it was really hilarious. I wouldn’t mind directing Un chapeau de paille d’Italie (in English, of course) someday!

On n’est jamais excusable d’être méchant, mais il y a quelque mérite à savoir qu’on l’est; et le plus irréparable des vice est de faire le mal par bêtise. -Baudelaire. “La Fausse Monnaie.”

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