march, friday 19th
When i decided to dedicate myself to my lifelong dream, i didn't expect it to be so hard to achieve, not that i have nothing to write about, i do, but i find it quiet difficult to organize myself around the schedule miss C seems to have for me. Maybe i should have told her what i am doing every day, or more to the point, what i wish to do...
Few days after my arrival she came into the little room where i was still sleeping, one morning.
"what do you eat for breakfast?" she said from the doorway.
Why does she always attack me when i'm not fully in control of my mental capacities?
I Decided to take the safest route:"Don't care..."
Not wise.
"I like fresh croissants with my coffee" she said.
I heard the door close again, guessed she left after seeing how sleepy i was. But a gnawing feeling was preventing me from going back into Morpheus' arms peacefully. Why did she feel that my knowing what she eats in the morning was precious and valuable informations enough to wake me up. With that thought in my head my eyes opened themselves on their own volition to see a 5 euros bill laying next to my pillow.
Dang, dang and DANG!!!! So now i have to go fetch her breakfast?! really?!
There's some food for thoughts: how was she able to manage her everyday life when i wasn't around?
Then and there the artist's life as i imagined it stopped. No more sleeping around untill 2pm, and no more staying up all night trying to find my inspiration under the starry sky. Ok, true, there's no stars to see in the parisian sky, but as i said, it was the life i imagined. Maybe, the waking up early stuff was a good thing. I started to realized that in order to succeed i should take my endeavor seriously, like a 9 to 5 job and that i should take care of my health while i was at it, something my bohemian life wouldn't allow me to do.
So there's my morning schedule:
6:45 wake up
7:00 walk ( because i physically can't run, even to save my life, i perform a brisk one)
Having no sport clothing i slip into the baggiest pair of pants i own, a tank top and put a scarf around my neck (march is more than chilly in Paris). I don't look the part but who cares? Certainly not me.
8:00 buy miss C's breakfast on the way back.
After two days of trying to talk out of breath to the baker's wife, the good lady got mercy on me and saved me from making a fool of myself every morning by handing me the croissants directly once i step into the bakery, other costumers being there or not. Bless her goodness.
My afternoon schedule is not fixed yet. Not that i stay available to every suggestions, but every day brings a new assignment. Usually it's about going to the dry cleaner or something like that, picking up stuff and running her ladyship errands. I must say that i can't complain. Not that i'm too grateful towards her for taking me in to do so. But because doing so would stop me from having my daily pleasure and revenge. the fact is that i did act in bad faith when i said the little room was piled up with junk. It's filled with miss C's 'babies: shoes. Brand shoes, designers shoes, unaffordable-for-me shoes. High-heels babies, flat babies, flip-flop babies, boots babies, open-toes babies, all kind of babies turning the room where i sleep into a shoes paradise. But if junk means shoes for some people, so maybe for some people i didn't sound so hypocritical after all. Every day whenever i have to go to run some errand for her graciousness i put one of those ridiculously expensive babies on. It feels great. I perversely pick the most mismatched to my outfit so people can see them perfectly and from afar. Those errands are so far from being a chore that really i cannot complain about them.
That was until yesterday.
Yesterday, she called from her office and something didn't sound right. Ok, there's always something off when i talk to her, so let me rephrase that. There was something in her voice, but i couldn't put a pin on it. On the phone she asked me to go someplace (she just gave me the address and refuse to tell me whose place it was). There, i was to pick up somebody named Manolo (I couldn't bring myself to ask her who it was), even though i was dying to do so. But she did sound dreadfully serious and concern so i went there without delay. I took the subway and sat in a daze. Yes, i was curious but not only because of the mystery around that Manolo person, but because she sounded sad...
Was i discovering another side of Miss C, a human one?
Was she really able to feel and show real concern and compassion toward another fellow human?
As it turned out Manolo was not a person but a cat. Yes, a cat. More surprisingly, her cat. Hers and her ex's cat. The address she gave me led me to the 8th arrondissement of Paris into her ex's apartment. I didn't get the chance to meet the guy. But, judging by his place he seemed well-off. I met his cleaning lady, though. She's the one who told me about the relationship between Miss C and the owner of the apartment. The nice lady also told all there was to know about Manolo and his passed away companion Melissa. She gave me his belongings and sent me on my way saying that she still had much to do before the mysterious-rich ex comes back. I thought about staying in the area a little while before heading back home hoping to steal a glance of that rich-but-never-heard-of ex, but Manolo was weighing as heavy as an overweight texan and i also had to carry his stuffs back with me.
My first hours alone with Manolo, was the worst that i had in the apartment yet. The pet was spoiled! An overweight spoiled long haired cat! In less than three hours he peed on the living-room carpet, pooed behind the sofa, scratched (on purpose, im sure!) one of the same sofa's cushion and valiantly tried to steal a piece of the chicken i just got out of the oven. How am I suppose to live with that thing! Someone was playing a prank on me and I wasn't laughing! I finally found a solution to have peace and order back by locking him out on the balcony.
Am i wrong the hold grudge against an obese cat? He's no more a thief than I am and, just like me, he too is trying to find new landmarks in his new surrounding. Looking closer we may be quiet a pair: the shoes thief and the cat! sounds funny, doesn't it?
dimanche 18 avril 2010
vendredi 16 avril 2010
music in my head
march, friday 12th
It has been one week since i arrived and the process of getting used to my new environment is not an easy task. As i worked through the task of setting a daily routine for myself, i discovered that the jazz music blasting through the walls from the neighbor's apartment wasn't a one-time thing like i wrongly thought last week but, to my surprise, a daily 6-to-7pm thing. In the spirit of being fair to my after-one-week-still-unknown neighbor, i will say that he appears to observe a week-end break and spares us the music for some 8-to-10pm or so movies on friday and saturday nights. And once again both movies are listened to full blast by my i-can't-wait-to-meet neighbour, the whole building and, of course, my humble self.
Yes, i thought of buying the indispensable earplugs and no, i still didn't buy them. I have to say to my defense that i pride myself in having a logical turn of mind, so i decided that one cannot resign oneself to one's fate without trying to change it to one's liking.
Therefore, i designed a scheme to present myself to the until-now-without-gender neighbor and, this is the most important part of the plan, ask for the noise reduction.
My plan, thoroughly thought through, i presented my person at the critical time in front of the noisy neighbor's door with some cake baked by myself the day before to ease ,1st,the uneasiness of the first encounter and, 2nd, the seriousness of my request, which was in reality nothing less than a demand.
I rang, knocked, banged but nothing. My faceless neighbour remained faceless, but the noise coming through the door became noisier after each ring, knock or bang. The cake eventually disappeared, though not like i devised it since i ended up eating it all up in frustration. I didn't write a single word that day and the following one, the fumes coming out of my ears preventing me from any rational thoughts. I still succeeded to gather enough thoughts to ask Miss C about the irritating neighbor. My mind wasn't clear enough to properly process the answer but i understood that the neighbour case once did bother her as well and after a few tries not unlike my failed one, she left them a note informing them of the most appropriate time for them to make their noises without being a disturbance to her which was 6 to 7pm on week days and 8 to 10pm on weekends, sunday not included since she makes a point of staying at home on sunday night for restorative purposes. I do clearly remember, though, that i stipulate the fact that living here now, even though they weren't of any disturbance to her they were becoming one to me. And if it is possible, i recall with more clarity her answer as she said "There's nothing i can do for you, sis." with a shrug of her shoulder; a sentence that i heard as "get a life, darling" if some translation was needed.
Strangely enough, the jazz-lover neighbor's music couldn't stay out of my head. On Wednesday i found myself waiting with impatience for the music to start, debating with myself about the reason for that sudden change. I came to the conclusion that if one cannot fight one's fate, one must embrace it, so the least that i could do was to include that daily hour of jazz in my daily routine and do the housework during that time.I guess that it wasn't enough, or so i realised the very next day when i entered a music shop quite naturally and hummed a melody to the salesman so he can help me find the name of the artist and the title of the song, or when i further continued my search on the internet looking for more artists and more music to listen to. I discovered a large variety of jazz music and created a list of artists whose music better suits my taste so i can buy some of their productions when some cash would come my way, if some cash ever comes my way.
For now, i don't really need money. All i need is some music in my head so i can travel to a whole new world.
It has been one week since i arrived and the process of getting used to my new environment is not an easy task. As i worked through the task of setting a daily routine for myself, i discovered that the jazz music blasting through the walls from the neighbor's apartment wasn't a one-time thing like i wrongly thought last week but, to my surprise, a daily 6-to-7pm thing. In the spirit of being fair to my after-one-week-still-unknown neighbor, i will say that he appears to observe a week-end break and spares us the music for some 8-to-10pm or so movies on friday and saturday nights. And once again both movies are listened to full blast by my i-can't-wait-to-meet neighbour, the whole building and, of course, my humble self.
Yes, i thought of buying the indispensable earplugs and no, i still didn't buy them. I have to say to my defense that i pride myself in having a logical turn of mind, so i decided that one cannot resign oneself to one's fate without trying to change it to one's liking.
Therefore, i designed a scheme to present myself to the until-now-without-gender neighbor and, this is the most important part of the plan, ask for the noise reduction.
My plan, thoroughly thought through, i presented my person at the critical time in front of the noisy neighbor's door with some cake baked by myself the day before to ease ,1st,the uneasiness of the first encounter and, 2nd, the seriousness of my request, which was in reality nothing less than a demand.
I rang, knocked, banged but nothing. My faceless neighbour remained faceless, but the noise coming through the door became noisier after each ring, knock or bang. The cake eventually disappeared, though not like i devised it since i ended up eating it all up in frustration. I didn't write a single word that day and the following one, the fumes coming out of my ears preventing me from any rational thoughts. I still succeeded to gather enough thoughts to ask Miss C about the irritating neighbor. My mind wasn't clear enough to properly process the answer but i understood that the neighbour case once did bother her as well and after a few tries not unlike my failed one, she left them a note informing them of the most appropriate time for them to make their noises without being a disturbance to her which was 6 to 7pm on week days and 8 to 10pm on weekends, sunday not included since she makes a point of staying at home on sunday night for restorative purposes. I do clearly remember, though, that i stipulate the fact that living here now, even though they weren't of any disturbance to her they were becoming one to me. And if it is possible, i recall with more clarity her answer as she said "There's nothing i can do for you, sis." with a shrug of her shoulder; a sentence that i heard as "get a life, darling" if some translation was needed.
Strangely enough, the jazz-lover neighbor's music couldn't stay out of my head. On Wednesday i found myself waiting with impatience for the music to start, debating with myself about the reason for that sudden change. I came to the conclusion that if one cannot fight one's fate, one must embrace it, so the least that i could do was to include that daily hour of jazz in my daily routine and do the housework during that time.I guess that it wasn't enough, or so i realised the very next day when i entered a music shop quite naturally and hummed a melody to the salesman so he can help me find the name of the artist and the title of the song, or when i further continued my search on the internet looking for more artists and more music to listen to. I discovered a large variety of jazz music and created a list of artists whose music better suits my taste so i can buy some of their productions when some cash would come my way, if some cash ever comes my way.
For now, i don't really need money. All i need is some music in my head so i can travel to a whole new world.
jeudi 8 avril 2010
fire!
March, friday 5th
I'm all fired up! After i decided to start to write yesterday, all i could think about was " i have to make this work!" I spent my day on Microsoft Word fixating the luminescent white screen page. Yes, i HAVE TO make it work...
Finally, after a few hours and teary eyes -- its tiresome to watch the computer screen for a long time-- i made the decision to write little articles instead of pages of... well, i don't know what i wanted to write in the first place. Now i have it, at least i had it until 5 in the afternoon when the phone rang.
" Yeap?"My voice is cold and dry.
Golden rule: make people feel they're calling you during a busy time. Makes them uncomfortable so shorten the conversation.
"Hi! to you too, dear Sis."
Hearing Miss C's voice at that moment made me realize that I didnt see her the day before... And i really didn't know how to feel about her calling me from work. No, i knew, i felt nervous. What was she up to?
"Didn't hear you come back yesterday."
"I came back late and you were dead on the sofa. Didn't want to wake you up. You looked really tired."
I could have swore i was hearing concern in her voice. But i was also hearing an alert bell ringing in my brain. Something was wrong.
"..."
Trust me, no answer for her is also an answer. She has the amazing ability to make a whole conversation by herself, whatever you say she'll hear whatever she wants to hear, so no answer is still an answer.
"Did you make yourself at home today?
Translation: "Did you do some cleaning?"
" I was a bit busy today..."
"You know there is the little room."
Translation: Don't even think about putting your stuff all over my place. You can use the room, but don't touch or move my things!
"ok."
"What do you wanna eat tonight?"
Translation: you pick, you make it.
I was sensing the trap but didn't know were to land. So i went with the returning question.
"And you, what do you wanna eat?"
I was saying it when i realized how stupid i was. Dang!
"Did you hear about that new all around the world food stuff?"
"..."
I could feel her coming.
"Of course you must know, you coming right from Japan!"
I could hear her foot steps clearer and clearer.
"I saw them trying that dish on Tv this weekend on channel 6." She went on. "You know the food tv show they have on the weekends? It looked reeaally good. Anyway, cook whatever you like, i'll be home around 8h30. Oh, and while you at it you'll need to do some shopping, the house is empty. I made a list and put it next to the fruit bowl in the kitchen. See you later, sis."
She hung up without waiting for a potential answer. She knew as well as I there would be no answer. She had made herself clear: Clean the apartment, put your stuff away, i dont want to see them when i get back. Don't touch, move or think about moving my stuff, fill the refrigerator and cook!
It was 5 something and i had 3 hours and half to get it done. Since i was on the computer i went on the net to check the tv show web site to find the recipe of her stupid dish, she didn't talk about it just to make conversation, printed it out, tucked my stuff away in the 'little room' which was wearing its name better than the last time i saw it. The room wasn't that small initially but with the junk piling up there it was definitely smallER than i remembered. Thank goodness she hadn't put anything on the bed...yet. I seriously had no time to worry about it or the writing that i'd just got started. So i ran to the kitchen to find her stupid list next to the equally stupid fruit bowl which was as stupidly empty as the refrigerator. She had left one of her credit cards (one good deed does not redeem it all) on the insanely long list.
I could feel my heart racing, smoke coming out of my ears and fire in my guts... or was it hunger? Art does definitely not feed its man, or woman in that instance, and i realized that except for sleeping on the couch and glaring at the computer screen i had done nothing in almost 24h including making my pearls shine or removing dead cells off my face. Disgrace! But i, once again, realized that i had no time to save people from old body odors. Dang!
Came back after 6 to find out that the neighbor loved jazz music, in fact i 'm fairly sure the whole floor knows the neighbor loves it. I started to get my cooking on so i could get on the cleaning part while the kitchen appliances were getting their part of the job done. Really i dont know how i got through the whole ordeal without burning the food or the neighbor's stereo down. 21st century and they didn't know anything at all about earphones? mental note: get ear plugs!! who knows if it's not a one time thing like a my-partner-who-hates-jazz-music-is-out-of-town-lets-enjoy thing.
8:30 came, laughed at my face and left promising to be back again the next day and the Corporal chef was not there yet. It was almost 10 when she arrived her 10 inches high heels in her hand, her makeup still as fresh as if she had just painted it on and her ensemble without a wrinkle in sight.
"You tidied the place up a bit, didn't you?"
tidied? TIDIED?! I did the whole cleaning rescue thing!
"What is smelling that good? you cooked? great! too bad i'm too tired to have some of it... should make it again sometime. I'm going to bed. kiss darling. By the way, did you clean the window?"
What? the windows? the WINDOWS?! Was she telling me to get the windows done the next day?!
I could feel it. My hands were shaky, my face hot, It definitely WAS fire in my guts!
I'm all fired up! After i decided to start to write yesterday, all i could think about was " i have to make this work!" I spent my day on Microsoft Word fixating the luminescent white screen page. Yes, i HAVE TO make it work...
Finally, after a few hours and teary eyes -- its tiresome to watch the computer screen for a long time-- i made the decision to write little articles instead of pages of... well, i don't know what i wanted to write in the first place. Now i have it, at least i had it until 5 in the afternoon when the phone rang.
" Yeap?"My voice is cold and dry.
Golden rule: make people feel they're calling you during a busy time. Makes them uncomfortable so shorten the conversation.
"Hi! to you too, dear Sis."
Hearing Miss C's voice at that moment made me realize that I didnt see her the day before... And i really didn't know how to feel about her calling me from work. No, i knew, i felt nervous. What was she up to?
"Didn't hear you come back yesterday."
"I came back late and you were dead on the sofa. Didn't want to wake you up. You looked really tired."
I could have swore i was hearing concern in her voice. But i was also hearing an alert bell ringing in my brain. Something was wrong.
"..."
Trust me, no answer for her is also an answer. She has the amazing ability to make a whole conversation by herself, whatever you say she'll hear whatever she wants to hear, so no answer is still an answer.
"Did you make yourself at home today?
Translation: "Did you do some cleaning?"
" I was a bit busy today..."
"You know there is the little room."
Translation: Don't even think about putting your stuff all over my place. You can use the room, but don't touch or move my things!
"ok."
"What do you wanna eat tonight?"
Translation: you pick, you make it.
I was sensing the trap but didn't know were to land. So i went with the returning question.
"And you, what do you wanna eat?"
I was saying it when i realized how stupid i was. Dang!
"Did you hear about that new all around the world food stuff?"
"..."
I could feel her coming.
"Of course you must know, you coming right from Japan!"
I could hear her foot steps clearer and clearer.
"I saw them trying that dish on Tv this weekend on channel 6." She went on. "You know the food tv show they have on the weekends? It looked reeaally good. Anyway, cook whatever you like, i'll be home around 8h30. Oh, and while you at it you'll need to do some shopping, the house is empty. I made a list and put it next to the fruit bowl in the kitchen. See you later, sis."
She hung up without waiting for a potential answer. She knew as well as I there would be no answer. She had made herself clear: Clean the apartment, put your stuff away, i dont want to see them when i get back. Don't touch, move or think about moving my stuff, fill the refrigerator and cook!
It was 5 something and i had 3 hours and half to get it done. Since i was on the computer i went on the net to check the tv show web site to find the recipe of her stupid dish, she didn't talk about it just to make conversation, printed it out, tucked my stuff away in the 'little room' which was wearing its name better than the last time i saw it. The room wasn't that small initially but with the junk piling up there it was definitely smallER than i remembered. Thank goodness she hadn't put anything on the bed...yet. I seriously had no time to worry about it or the writing that i'd just got started. So i ran to the kitchen to find her stupid list next to the equally stupid fruit bowl which was as stupidly empty as the refrigerator. She had left one of her credit cards (one good deed does not redeem it all) on the insanely long list.
I could feel my heart racing, smoke coming out of my ears and fire in my guts... or was it hunger? Art does definitely not feed its man, or woman in that instance, and i realized that except for sleeping on the couch and glaring at the computer screen i had done nothing in almost 24h including making my pearls shine or removing dead cells off my face. Disgrace! But i, once again, realized that i had no time to save people from old body odors. Dang!
Came back after 6 to find out that the neighbor loved jazz music, in fact i 'm fairly sure the whole floor knows the neighbor loves it. I started to get my cooking on so i could get on the cleaning part while the kitchen appliances were getting their part of the job done. Really i dont know how i got through the whole ordeal without burning the food or the neighbor's stereo down. 21st century and they didn't know anything at all about earphones? mental note: get ear plugs!! who knows if it's not a one time thing like a my-partner-who-hates-jazz-music-is-out-of-town-lets-enjoy thing.
8:30 came, laughed at my face and left promising to be back again the next day and the Corporal chef was not there yet. It was almost 10 when she arrived her 10 inches high heels in her hand, her makeup still as fresh as if she had just painted it on and her ensemble without a wrinkle in sight.
"You tidied the place up a bit, didn't you?"
tidied? TIDIED?! I did the whole cleaning rescue thing!
"What is smelling that good? you cooked? great! too bad i'm too tired to have some of it... should make it again sometime. I'm going to bed. kiss darling. By the way, did you clean the window?"
What? the windows? the WINDOWS?! Was she telling me to get the windows done the next day?!
I could feel it. My hands were shaky, my face hot, It definitely WAS fire in my guts!
mercredi 7 avril 2010
first...
march, thursday 4th
Took a deep breath, had wanted to buy a notebook and the right pen to write my first sentence, but i'm broke and my sis' computer was there begging me to use it so goodbye paper and pencil here i come 21st century!
I still cant release my breath, i always wanted to... write. yeah i said it. Me, Celeste 25 years-old, no job, no appart, no boyfriend no nothing, have decided to run after my dream. i dont have anything that i want to hold on to. i just have those stories in my head, just those. Nothing else.
They've been there all along. For as far as i can remember i always wanted to write something, to make people hang on to my every words, whatever the words.
'Why today?' Would you ask. 'why not?' I will answer. Today the sun is shining, the air is light and feels great and today is the first day of my new life, so why not?
So today is the day of my first sentence, the first try of what will be my exercise of being a writer, of being me.
Today is also the first day i wake up at home after 3 years. Home is Paris. Not where i was born or where my family home is. No, for now home is where my closest parent is and that is my sister. Im not going to talk about her now, my fingers are still shaky and my mind still fuzzy from the jet-lag, the change... from everything to talk about the Corporal chef.
So, im home and home looks dirtier than in my souvenirs, busier, noisier also. I do not know what i was waiting for to come back to when i first left Japan, but i didnt find it, at least not yet. I didnt expect miss C. (coded name for my sis, Carmen, also called the Corporal Chef, but only by me...) to be there waiting for me at the airport and as expected she wasnt there. I'd forgotten how hostile a place the subway can be for those who have luggage and bags and more than 10h of flight behind their eyelids. I had forgotten, but then, within the first hour of my arrival on the land i was about to call home again, i remembered.
I know subways, small, big, european, american, asian cities' subways. I've done them all, but yet again i had forgotten parisian subway system. Had forgotten and the souvenir is still hard to retrieve. Then and there in the subway, tired and lost in my thoughts i saw, getting off the subway at "Place d'Italie" taking the exit direction line 5, a butterfly. Not one of those big, colorful, beautiful butterflies, no just a modest one, like me...
My name is Celeste. I'm 25 years-old and i too am a butterfly. Unnoticed, discreet, common but i have wings and from today onwards i intend to fly... for the first time.
Took a deep breath, had wanted to buy a notebook and the right pen to write my first sentence, but i'm broke and my sis' computer was there begging me to use it so goodbye paper and pencil here i come 21st century!
I still cant release my breath, i always wanted to... write. yeah i said it. Me, Celeste 25 years-old, no job, no appart, no boyfriend no nothing, have decided to run after my dream. i dont have anything that i want to hold on to. i just have those stories in my head, just those. Nothing else.
They've been there all along. For as far as i can remember i always wanted to write something, to make people hang on to my every words, whatever the words.
'Why today?' Would you ask. 'why not?' I will answer. Today the sun is shining, the air is light and feels great and today is the first day of my new life, so why not?
So today is the day of my first sentence, the first try of what will be my exercise of being a writer, of being me.
Today is also the first day i wake up at home after 3 years. Home is Paris. Not where i was born or where my family home is. No, for now home is where my closest parent is and that is my sister. Im not going to talk about her now, my fingers are still shaky and my mind still fuzzy from the jet-lag, the change... from everything to talk about the Corporal chef.
So, im home and home looks dirtier than in my souvenirs, busier, noisier also. I do not know what i was waiting for to come back to when i first left Japan, but i didnt find it, at least not yet. I didnt expect miss C. (coded name for my sis, Carmen, also called the Corporal Chef, but only by me...) to be there waiting for me at the airport and as expected she wasnt there. I'd forgotten how hostile a place the subway can be for those who have luggage and bags and more than 10h of flight behind their eyelids. I had forgotten, but then, within the first hour of my arrival on the land i was about to call home again, i remembered.
I know subways, small, big, european, american, asian cities' subways. I've done them all, but yet again i had forgotten parisian subway system. Had forgotten and the souvenir is still hard to retrieve. Then and there in the subway, tired and lost in my thoughts i saw, getting off the subway at "Place d'Italie" taking the exit direction line 5, a butterfly. Not one of those big, colorful, beautiful butterflies, no just a modest one, like me...
My name is Celeste. I'm 25 years-old and i too am a butterfly. Unnoticed, discreet, common but i have wings and from today onwards i intend to fly... for the first time.
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