Last night wasn’t fun. Sarah went to sleep while I still worked on yesterday’s blog post and checked Facebook and stuff. Around midnight I finally went to bed…and then the neighbours across the hall came into their room, talking and laughing very loudly. I figured they’d quiet down in a few minutes, but they didn’t, and then the neighbours above us came stomping in. After a while, I thought I’d just get used to it, and then our next door neighbours started arguing about something very loudly. And then some drunk guys were yelling outside our window that always sounds like it’s open even when it isn’t, and someone was snoring very loudly, and then there was me, lying in bed, whispering all the french curse words I know. (I know two, but I can put them into some creative contexts.)
Sarah and I decided we’d take the morning off, since walking non-stop for the past three days has left us (mostly the feet part) feeling a little tired. We decided that, but only Sarah really took a break.
Today I arrived in Paris, France, fresh off the Eurostar.
My friend Sarah and I arrived at the station just before 3pm and spent a bit too much time wandering around in the vague direction of our hostel. We hoped we’d come across it by accident and did 180ºs when it felt like we were too far off track. It worked.
There’s nothing like planning a trip to Paris to stop you from crying uncontrollably.
As any university student (or anyone really) can understand, sometimes there’s just too much to do and not enough time. I know I only have four classes a week and it’s only Creative Writing and I’m lucky enough to be all the way in England so I really shouldn’t be complaining, but I had a small meltdown yesterday. Honestly, I’m not too sure about sharing it publicly because it’s kind of embarrassing, but I figured there had to be someone out there who needs to know they’re not alone.