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Wow. . .that was far out.
Nov. 30th, 2005 07:10 pmI just woke up from one of those "catch-up" dreams. You know the ones I mean, where your brain is running an autoupdate on your head while you're sleeping. The ones that help you deal with new problems/issues in your life. That are so full of material you don't have to wonder what the subtext is because for once nothing is hidden, it's just all on montage.
In the mystical-realism-on-gritty-documentary film world of my head, I:
--Moved into a new apartment. Landlord/roommate/father figure guy explained all these crazy rules. The first day I fucked everything up, and the second day I did most things right. And there was a dog. . .looked like my ex's husky, only sweet. The dog was apparently mine.
--Told the ex precisely how I felt and walked away from her.
--Left a vending-machine-coffee on the St. Eloi sidewalk (ok this was symbolic of my hatred for all French vending machines except the condom ones which are brilliant).*
--Rode around with Romain and Anna and another kid from our film class and had zany adventures in a car.**
--Learned valuable information from my grandmothers.
*=first remembered dream that incorporated more than fleeting glimpses of Montpellier
**=spoke French. Decent French. The whole time. Also, zany adventures that were very clearly Romain, Anna and I trying to finish our film homework, but in bizarre ways. We were searching for food and a place to print the really huge dossier. And I used "Qu'est-ce qu'il faut que je fasse?" in my sleep. I kicked the French subjunctive's ass, if I do say so my self.
Just a side note, I spoke three and a half hours of nearly unbroken French today. Go me. Also go Romain, who can understand enough English and bodylanguage to see when I was on linguistic overload and have me spit out whatever it was in English and then translate it. Bloody brilliant.
Maybe I'm adjusting? Finally? Rock on.
I <3 textos, Kinder Délice cakes, Rondelé, and finding a way to remember the phonetic transcription of French nasal vowels.
In the mystical-realism-on-gritty-documentary film world of my head, I:
--Moved into a new apartment. Landlord/roommate/father figure guy explained all these crazy rules. The first day I fucked everything up, and the second day I did most things right. And there was a dog. . .looked like my ex's husky, only sweet. The dog was apparently mine.
--Told the ex precisely how I felt and walked away from her.
--Left a vending-machine-coffee on the St. Eloi sidewalk (ok this was symbolic of my hatred for all French vending machines except the condom ones which are brilliant).*
--Rode around with Romain and Anna and another kid from our film class and had zany adventures in a car.**
--Learned valuable information from my grandmothers.
*=first remembered dream that incorporated more than fleeting glimpses of Montpellier
**=spoke French. Decent French. The whole time. Also, zany adventures that were very clearly Romain, Anna and I trying to finish our film homework, but in bizarre ways. We were searching for food and a place to print the really huge dossier. And I used "Qu'est-ce qu'il faut que je fasse?" in my sleep. I kicked the French subjunctive's ass, if I do say so my self.
Just a side note, I spoke three and a half hours of nearly unbroken French today. Go me. Also go Romain, who can understand enough English and bodylanguage to see when I was on linguistic overload and have me spit out whatever it was in English and then translate it. Bloody brilliant.
Maybe I'm adjusting? Finally? Rock on.
I <3 textos, Kinder Délice cakes, Rondelé, and finding a way to remember the phonetic transcription of French nasal vowels.
