So, the adventure started late Friday afternoon when my plan was to go straight from work to the train station (okay, with a leisurely beer stop-off on the way, I had an hour!), but then I realized on the way to work that I had forgotten my passport. An essential item for international travel. So I had to trek the 20 minutes back home after all was said and done, though this did give me time to make some delicious garlic sausage sandwiches for the journey. They made my bag so stinky! But it was worth it.
Back to the train station I went, an uneventful ride into Paris followed, and then BAM, the metro happened. That is to say, it's always an adventure in trying to make it somewhere on time*. This time, there was some kind of medical emergency† one stop down the line I was on, so everything was super delayed. Luckily I had hours until the overnight bus from hell, which I obviously wanted to be spending underground anyway since Paris is boring and ugly. Right?
La la la, finally make it to the bus station, wait around for a while, read some Tolkien, check in, get on, and have a seat to myself. That is, until an older man comes by and asks if anyone is sitting next to me. So I was forced (out of kindness) to give up the dual-seat luxury and allow this man to sit down.
This is what followed/what I hadn't considered beforehand. The seats seemed really comfortable because they reclined back to, like, 45 degrees. But then the person in front of me leaned back my knees were trapped. We had to get off the bus for border control. Luckily, I had brought the address where I was staying this time so they didn't give me any shit. We got back on the bus for about half an hour then had to get off on the ferry. Oh, right, Anne, you have to take a ferry when you're on the bus, it doesn't just float accross the English Channel. I got my only solid hour of sleep on a couch on the ferry. Then we got back on the bus and I was pretty sure I hadn't slept the rest of the journey.
Pretty sure. Except that I must have been asleep because at a certain point I woke up (therefore was sleeping, but dreaming about being on the bus), and dude next to me had his jacket spilling over onto my lap. So, annoyed, I toss it back over on him and OH MY GOD HIS HAND IS ON MY UPPER THIGH. This only could have happened if I had been sleeping. I am talking, fingers practically in my crotch, upper-thigh grope. I picked up that pervy old man's hand and flung it at him like a dead fish. He didn't wake up. Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all the rest for the rest of the bus ride.
Saturday morning, I got in early and went to my cousin Billy's for a shower and some breakfast, then headed out to day one of the workshop. Which was awesome. But I won't bore you with the details of my frustrations at not being open and playful enough to accomplish in one weekend what performers struggle for years to get past.
Saturday evening, instead of going straight to bed as my brain probably would have appreciated, I had some beers with the dudes I was staying with (friends of the Kiwi Doctor) and played some dice game I had never heard of before. It was ridiculously fun, and I was so good at the game until the alcohol very quickly took its effect on my fatigued brain‡ and I became a much worse at bluffing. They conveniently went out around 9, at which point I immediately fell asleep and stayed that way for the next ten hours.
Sunday, was a bit of a repeat, except minus the drinking in the evening, and with another bus to catch home. I did not get groped this time. Thankfully. I got back to my apartment in Flers for just long enough to brush my teeth and change my underwear before I had to go to my first class. I must have looked a sight, my hair all greased into whatever position I had (not) been sleeping in all night, and I'm pretty sure I probably sounded drunk at moments. I hope it wasn't too weird when I showed up again that afternoon, all showered and well-fed.
So that was my weekend. Met some awesome people at LISPA, and definitely a place I might try to go sometime in the distant-ish future for their two-year program. If I can get over my crippling voice of analysis and self-doubt. Working on it.
Sorry I was too lazy to find pictures for this post, and also that all the links are just to other stuff I've written. I just really want you to read it, because, like, I wrote it.
*Though I still maintain that le métro is far superior to the tube.
†They tv screens actually said, 'Someone is ill,' but I can only imagine that there was some kind of heart attack happening. I hope they wouldn't have stopped the metro over a cold. But maybe someone just barfed.
‡This is my official excuse.
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