I'm writing this blog entry at roughly 5:47AM (which equates to roughly 7:47 PM Parisian time) on a day which I believe is Monday, though I could be totally wrong. One might question why I'm writing so early in the morning and this can easily be justified by my overall mangled sense of time and space established as a result of a gruelling 24 hours in transit, but I think the real reason here lies in recently being burned by love or something along those clichéd lines. I don't know if it's the fact that it happened while I was overseas, but I'm just really frustrated that this is actually the fourth time in two years. I'm not trying to point the blame at anyone here, I just need to vent purely since I didn't think I could find anyone better and here I am, typing about something that I never thought nor hoped would eventuate. Ideally I'd love everything to be sweeter and my four remaining weeks of summer holidays to be less sombre but hey, the Rolling Stones insisted that we can't always get what we want and for me I guess that's true, really.
On a more optimistic note, I have successfully returned to Australia sans abduction/murder/rape. While it's good to be able to wear something other than a bulky coat and clompy boots and of course, sleep in my own bed, I really do miss Nogent with a passion. Living for four weeks in a country where one's knowledge of the language is left to either prosper or wither presents a myriad of opportunities to discover new perspectives on life and learn more about yourself, all while meeting interesting people - and in my case, making up parody songs about them - along the way. It's most certainly life-changing, if I am able to say that without feeling like a special guest on Oprah, which would result in roughly one hundred thousand tears pouring down the faces of one hundred overweight Midwestern housewives, only to be salvaged by one hundred Louis Vuitton handkerchieves distributed as freebies. Needless to say, my French has improved somewhat (I can understand roughly 85 per cent of conversation rather than 65 per cent at the start of exchange) and my outlook on life improved possibly even more and je suis sur que j'ai de la chance d'avoir participé dans l'échange. I'd no doubt highly reccommend it. I'd also recommend my parents check their datebooks more often, since they got the day mixed up resulting in a mad rush to collect me and my French teacher from the airport. I'll write about it when I feel like laughing, as opposed to right now where I'm just feeling emo and Nogent-sick.
Incidentally, France has cultivated within me a love of new music. Check out "Ta Douleur" by Camille, which you will have to do anyway since I've posted the link below. The song's entirely in French but from what I'm able to recall/translate, it's about a girl who is singing about her sick friend and her desire to "take her pain" and "block her senses". I love it not only for its seductive vocals (though I will say that French conversations are pure seduction anyway) and the prevalence of some slick bass guitar, but also the fact that this song can get away with calling scientists "connards" (dickheads - to Nick: "canard" is duck, not dickhead, unless you're New Zealander in which you can probably get away with calling someone a "duckhead" and causing offense. You can probably also get away with screwing sheep), which is something I've always wanted to do. A-fucking-men.
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=XIuyVAXvf1k
NB: Upon reading this a second time, having included the difference between "un canard" and "un connard", I'd like to add that the second sentence within the bracket and the clause which follows outside of the bracket are in no such way connected to each other. Despite feeling somewhat lonely and single I have not and never will have the slightest intention to resort to bestiality to act as a stop-gap solution to my desires. Thank you for reading this and hopefully understanding my propensity for human males, or males with the same number of chromosomes as me for that matter.
Oh, and speaking of good music, I would officially like to thank the Pixies for entertaining me with their music during my three consecutive flights. The songs "Debaser", "Wave of Mutilation" and "La La Love You" are awesome and incredible. In the meantime, to whoever can be arsed reading this (if my memory serves me correctly I think I only have one reader now) have a rockin' yuletide, bitch, and I'll see you in 2009 unless you're a pedophile/murderer/terrorist/scientist!
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