Shoved in like diligent sheep, we were cramped during our metro ride yesterday. The air was filled with farts. I read on my Kobo in order to avoid eye-contact with anyone. I could see three people in my peripheral vision. I saw at least one pair of Nike shoe for every square foot. Even though, we have still been avoiding bisous and knocking our elbows together, we don’t mind being stuffed in the metro together.
Everyday is the same, and nothing happens really. After the smelly ride, I reached my class. The professor was so dull that I kept fidgeting in my chair. I doodled endlessly in my notebook instead of taking notes.
I recently bought an old iPod from an old French guy. It is an iPod Nano, the last generation with a camera. The man forgot to delete his personal videos in which he is drunk out of his mind and dancing wildly with his friend. Also spitting fils du chien, putain (son of a dog), salope (bitch) etc. to the camera. I haven’t delete them. So far, I love using this cute piece of tech, and I like that it separates a part of my life from the phone, and that it doesn’t have wifi.
I have also been struggling with a bad haircut since December. I agreed to everything that the hairdresser said, just because it was nice to have her touch my head so gently. And then, what I ended up with was a Miranda Hobbes haircut, but worse. I am trying everything I can to not look like a 15 year old boy in peak puberty with wild side burns.
A few days ago, I went to the photocopy shop to print a “return form”. I sent my file to the frizzy-hair woman who seemed stressed and frustrated at her printing machines, took my print, paid my 20 cents and left. As I exited the shop, struggling to take the mask off my face, a woman next to my bicycle turned to me and released all her frustrations at me. She said she was tired of the masks; that they’ve opened the dance clubs but we still have to worry about wearing a mask every time we want to go buy a pencil. “They” don’t realise what this is doing to us psychologically. I gave her a set of sympathetic nods and ouais and c’est vrais.
The same day in a moment of misery, I ate an outrageously sweet, chewy brownie from my university canteen, for one euro. And the shock of how good this fabriqué en France brownie was and an instant sugar high made me forget everything.
In short, nothing much happened.
Biz.