l'habit ne fait pas le moine

Today was one of the professor's birthday at school, so to celebrate, we had three bottle of champagne during lunch. This was probably a bad idea, as I have two classes this afternoon that I should probably stay awake for. Still, it was worth it. I love a good champagne, especially on a Monday. Mondays are the worst.

I did very little this weekend, which shouldn't surprise given my tendency toward laziness. I've also been spending too much time assessing my possible futures, with little to no definitive improvement or solidification of plans. Who knows where I'll be this time next year. That's one thing I do miss about being in school as a student, the regularity. The predictability. I always knew what was coming and what I needed to do for it. Now I have no idea what I'll be doing or what I need to do now in order to make that possible.

Falling asleep in the teacher's lounge at collège is probably not a good way to start.

This weekend I went to see a movie, L'homme qui voulait vivre sa vie. It was good, though not something I'd want to watch again. You know the kind of movie that leaves you exhausted after watching? It takes so much energy just to watch; the emotions are strong, intense, and you feel them with the character. Well, this movie is one of them. It's a very introspective piece, you see the whole thing through the point of view of one man and his own personal journey. Compared to most American movies, there is almost no dialogue. Most of the story comes through with emotions and acting (which was superb). The problem, of course, is that I like happy endings. When I want escape from the world, it doesn't matter how miserable it might get in the middle, the end always has to be happy and satisfying. If not, why bother? That's why I read the last page of a book before buying it, or why I make sure and read the synapsis of a movie before daring to watch. I see no need to make myself unnecessarily sad.

That being said, today I got to work and listened to a conversation in the teacher's lounge about how one of the professors' step-son killed himself yesterday. He lived in Japan, recently been divorced, and had a young child. They (the professor and her husband whose son it was) had spoken to him only the day before, and he had plans to come back to France for Christmas in eleven days. But they got a phone call yesterday from the ex-wife, crying and saying "He's killed himself. It's not my fault. It's not my fault." Now the family has to drop everything and fly to Japan for a funeral.

Stories like that mess with me, and I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps because I can't imagine how that must feel, and I keep trying to put myself in the parents' shoes, saying "He would've been home in a few days. We just spoke to him. He was so far away and there was nothing we could do; why did we let him go away, did we do something wrong?" To have gone all year without seeing him, to know he'd be home in less than two weeks, and then suddenly be faced with the reality that they'll never see him again.

This is why I like my movies and books to end happily-ever-after.

In other news, I've been studying up on my French idiomatic phrases and informal language, and I stumbled across this one I thought would amuse: j'ai d'autres chats à fouetter. Literally : I have other cats to whip. It means I have other fish to fry/other things to do. Also, the French say "walking on eggs" rather than "walking on eggshells." This is why I love learning languages. Elles m'amusent.