Folks: It’s not for me. If I ever had any doubts, I have them no longer. The partying life is not for me. You would have to do a lot to convince me to stay up past eleven. I love to sleep. Sleep is great. Sleep is sometimes the best thing that happens in a day. It’s so tranquil. It gives you a chance to catch up on your introspection and self-awareness. I’m a sleeper at heart. I need my 9 hours a night. In my books the only good reasons to stay up late are the following:
1) I’m finishing writing a song.
2) I’m in the middle of a good book.
3) I’m thinking out my future.
4) I’m talking to God.
5) I’m looking at the stars.
6) I’m snuggly with my guitar.
7) I’m writing poetry.
The aforementioned reasons are a comprehensive consolidation of my rationale. Yesterday I was at a birthday party. All was going well. It’s probably exactly the same in Canada, except I would understand what the people are saying around me. The lights are flashing, the music is pumping, (LMFAO is the vermin of North America which has unfortunately infected Europe with its pestilence) people are dancing and drinking and presumably having a good time. We’re all dancing and singing along about how we have a hangover, and we done drunk to much fo shur. I’m going along with all this, just contemplating the irony of the whole situation. We come here, to be with friends, and celebrate a specific one, and instead we’re here drinking, and singing about drinking. But then I let that go when I reluctantly concluded that maybe she just really likes to get drunk, and that’s what she wanted for her 18th birthday. Okay then, fine by me. Enjoy yourself. Later I went and poured myself some water. Then tasted it. And it was not water. The bottle was all in German, so I asked my exchange partner what it was. Yep. Water. So I poured it into another person’s cup. Great party manners, I know right. 😛
You have no idea how disappointed I was that they were only playing North American dance music. Hello I did NOT come to Switzerland to hear more Rihanna. Where’s that European techno which influenced Owl City?
Self: (French) How much time are we here for?
Exchange partner: (French) my dad is picking us up in one hour.
Resignation paints a little life back into my face.
Self: (French) ok that’s great!
Exchange partner: (English) Did you understand me?
Self: oh yes, your dad is coming in one hour!
Exchange partner: no I said my Dad was coming at one.
Then of course my big puppy dog face comes down on my face like the curtains close after an act that was an epic fail.
She phoned her dad and he came to pick me up at 10:45. We stood in the parking lot with the people who were smoking. Her dad driving into the parking lot was just like a life boat coming to the Titanic. Thank God for dads. He was concerned about me. Are you okay? Is everything okay? I was relieved. I told him I wasn’t used to partying. I went home and slept. It had been a long day.
“To say the things, [s]he truly feels,
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows, I took the blows.
And did it my way.”. -Sinatra
On the slopes, it was brutal also. I took fewer, nastier falls. My brother accidentally caught the back of one of my skis, and it was beyond my control, it just pulled out to the side (it was SO painful). Picture your hamstring muscles kind of like the curtain in the temple after the resurrection, and that’s exactly what it felt like, except I’m still in one piece. Then on the ski lift, I took a tumble, and the thing dragged me in the snow for another 5 meters while I pried the attachment out from between my legs. Then, I had also fallen forwards, except my knees were straight, (tres mal..) and then I fell sideways and got shouldered by an angry snowbank. Meanwhile all that my helpful, optimistic brain gives me to say in french is “Don’t worry! I’m doing fine!” I think I will ask them if I can see their chiropractor.
I have my window open this morning and the air feels just like Joy. It’s so nice to be in this family. They are so nice to me! Oh gosh and there’s so much chocolate. It’s so nice! It’s really funny because they don’t call chocolate milk, milk with chocolate, the call it chocolate with milk. mdr…
Switzerland is so nice. Not gonna lie, the airport in Geneva felt so much more like home than Pearsons… 😛