Perhaps it was the migrain headache, or the days spent without talking to Tim, or the fact that my bankcard is lost... or maybe it was just the rain and the day's ceaselessly gray sky... but yesterday was something else entirely.
But scratch all that. I finally got to talk to my Dad and I spoke more french yesterday than I've ever spoken in my life. Such is the benefit of the french kitchen, where people kiss you and then tell you who they are.
Luckily, Mamadou is a very patient and clear french-speaker whose first language is something African that I could only hope to understand in my wildest dreams. Although the fact that he told some french guy whom I've only seen a couple of times that I speak french well might have had better results had the following not happened:
Phrase du jour: Est-ce qu'il un problème quand un homme français vous dit que vous parlez bien la francaise, mais vous ne comprennez pas ce qu'il vous a dit? (Is it a problem when a french guy tells you speak french well but you don't understand what he said?)
Speaking of speaking in your wildest dreams, I've discovered that the reason I can't sleep at night (beside the bizarre feeling that I'm dizzily falling off the face of the earth), is because I've been translating all my night-time thoughts into french. Every night, without failure, I keep myself awake translating things in my head, like some sort of wine-and-cheese induced trace that carries on from midnight until I "wake up" from never having really been asleep.
I'm honestly looking forward to a weekend settled in with my piles of translation homework. I hope everyone enjoys sufficient debauchery for Mardi Gras. If you're the one who stole my bank card, please give it back.
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