When I’m tired, my brain goes on overdrive. Details that shouldn’t matter suddenly bother me—why is it so dusty under the couch?
Browsing: About Me
A couple of years ago, I decided to give radio another chance. Not the annoying radio stations with their pre-formatted playlists and ten-minute commercial breaks—I turned to podcasts.
French are epicurean, joyous pessimistic and self-conscious hedonist. North Americans, on the other hand, strive for perfection and constantly want to better themselves and those around them.
There are only so many hours in the day and they are always booked by two main tasks—work and Mark. In between, a myriad of small duties, a series of minor events and a plethora of incidents will incapacitate me here and there, as if I was in a videogame.
There was no party, no engagement period, no white dress—we did have rings but only because we bought them on the way to the ceremony.
What’s relevant to me—and this is how I keep track of the years going by—is the sum of all the experiences, feelings and emotions that make up life and make us humans.
Back in 2010, I swore I would take my G test as soon as possible. I’m usually pretty organized and I hate do things last minute. Except that, well, Mark came in between. Five years went by fast. And also I have a driving test phobia.
I had missed relationships ending and new ones beginning, I had missed pendaisons de crémaillère in first apartments, I had missed months of eating store-brand pasta because the cost of living in Paris is higher than in Nantes, I had missed first jobs, driving licence exams, first rows of exams at university.
I had a momentary moment of wisdom. I decided to let it go of control.
“Take a look!” the esthetician encouraged me. Ah, this is why there was a big mirror on the wall. I took a look under her watchful eye, careful to strike the right balance between “appreciative of the work” and “porn-star-in-training”.
By the time you read this, we will be about to leave, already in the plane or maybe even landing. It doesn’t get more vague than that, I know.
The holiday season is in full swing, and even though I am the self-described “mother who sucked at Christmas”, I’m trying to get in the mood. Sort of. So here are our holiday season wins and fails so far.
Mark doesn’t care about the Santa book I’m holding and the great speech I had prepared. Hopefully I will have more success with the heart-to-heart mother-to-son conversation we will have one day about where babies come from.
I should invest and buy Starbucks shares. Or apply for a barista position. Either way, it’s time to get something out of my coffee shop addiction.
With Mark at school, I should be able to resume a normal 9-5 routine. Except I don’t have one.
I’ve known my in-laws for 12 years now. It’s not a secret that I don’t like fruits. It’s not a big deal, really. And yet, every few weeks or so, depending how often I see them, they offer me fruits.
Where is my phone? I need to charge it. I receive one phone call a…
Mark’s clothes are stacked at the bottom of my backpack, I’m picking jeans and shorts…
When Future Shop, Best Buy and Henry’s refuse to sell me a camera. What’s a girl gotta do to get a Nikon D3200?
It’s been a few weeks that nothing, absolutely nothing is going my way. No major disaster (phew!) but I am going through a string of little inconveniences, disappointments and failures that put a damper on everyday life.
Sex isn’t something I usually write much about. Not because I’m busy doing it but because even though I blog under “Zhu”, my real name is not a secret (“hi, prospective client!”) and because some of my friends, as well as—gasp!—my mom sometime read my articles.
I think I am a pretty honest person. I don’t cheat and I don’t play tricks. Why would I? I find life is generally easier when you tell the truth and speak your mind—without being brutally blunt, of course. Being caught in a web of lies must be a nightmare. I don’t have the energy for that kind of crap. But what about these little white lies? Okay, I am guilty of these.
Along with the bike, I bought a lock, a bell (required by law in Ottawa) and a helmet. “Do you want to see how it looks on you?” asked the salesperson at Sport Check after ensuring the helmet fit me. “I assume I look like an idiot so no, I’ll be fine,” I replied.