Le Métro

I like to play a little game along the lines of Fuck, Marry, Kill while I ride the subway each day in Paris. The thing is, the subway isn't always that pleasant. Very often, there is a smelly mofo who just smells up the fucking train. But typically, there is also at least somebody present who's cute enough to make up for it. (Shout-out: Random guy with longish, curly hair, who was wearing dark neutral tones the other day!! You had potential, even with your strange gait. [I just described most of Paris...]) I don't look them in the eye...seriously, no one seems to make eye contact with strangers here!! But I nevertheless glance around the car. It helps pass the time.

Plus, it's innocent enough. I'm not planning on fucking anyone. I think meeting on the subway requires a little more coyness than that. At least a drink in bar in a semi-popular neighborhood. Also, it can never be that fruitful because it very often ties into my soon-to-be-proposed game show: "Is he gay or just European?"

Verbose

What's more valuable: feelings or intentions? I feel as if this debate is the one perpetually going on in my mind. As a sensitive person, I'm so often insulted or hurt and people try to reconcile that by reminding me of intent. The problem is that I'm logical, romantic, loyal, stubborn, and narcissistic. I can see the logic of both sides: when someone doesn't mean to hurt you, it should objectively be less offensive. However, that does not negate the feeling produced. I'm romantic and thus I try to see the good in everyone ("She didn't intend on it sounding that way"). I'm loyal—once you gain access to my inner circle, despite my high expectations, I really don't want to push you out. This hesitance to change leads pretty wonderfully into my stubbornness. And my narcissism means that I tend to want to value my feelings more than others' intentions.

The solution is always to compromise. I just wish that this all was easier for me to express, preferably in less than 1 paragraph.

I feel fine

I have a cold, but I don't really care. I'm living in Paris. Fuck you, I'm in PARIS. It's bizarre for me to be living in a city after doing my suburban and campus routines for so long. Today, I was in a metro car filled to the maximum capacity (thanks to the strike today—yay strikes!) and I felt fine. It was strange, a little weird, but fine. I got out at my stop, I wasn't crushed. I did it. Sure my French really isn't that awesome, but I have 4 months to work on it.

I might only have class Tuesdays and Wednesdays...which is insane. But hopefully an internship and maybe also a part-time job. There are a lot of ads for English teachers, which makes me feel like a governess and thus fabulous. (I go the Fraulein Maria route not quite the Jane Eyre route. I'd prefer Nazis over Berthe, sorry.) On verra, on verra. Ça m'est égal et en fait, ça va.