"Oh, B, you’ve done it now..."
~The Killers.

Yesterday my program people called me wanting me in the office at 10am today to take that exam that I missed. But the problem is they gave me, oh, what, 15 hours notice? So how much studying got done? Well... not a lot. Not... any really.
Because see, I have learned something terribly important in the last few weeks.
It is so much more fun to be irresponsible than it is to be responsible. And honestly, you can believe that, because it is coming from me, who spent the first 20 years of my life being Exceptionally Responsible. And then I show up in this country and it all goes out the window. First because I had no idea what was going on, and then because I still didn’t know what was going on, but I realized that the world wouldn’t end if I didn’t have all my ducks lined up. And I don’t do it on purpose (yet), but there is just no reason (if you live in France) to get stressed about anything, or really to pay attention to anything that bothers you. If it is annoying, bothersome, nerve-wracking, or otherwise problematic, just ignore it. Eventually it will take care of itself (if you live in France). If you don’t live here, however, I can’t speak for you. Actually, I can, because I used to not live here. And that is the problem. Because if you go to a school like Emory, it is absolutely faut that you be responsible. Terribly so. Because if you aren’t, what will happen? Someone else will get better MCAT scores than you (gasp). Or someone else will get that internship you needed. Or you won’t get into grad school. Or asked to join the firm straight out of undergrad.
And lately I am so sick of thinking of all of that. I kind of just want to be... well... irresponsible and allowed to do what I want instead of what I should. And if you live in France, that is not a problem. But I won’t live here forever, and what then? I have to go back to living a real life with worries and stress and no cheese and no wine.
Why did I ever think that was an ok plan?
Yesterday I found myself at the Notre-Dame end of Boulevard de Sainte Michel at 1330, with nothing to do until 17h00, so I walked to Notre Dame and looked at the towers... and then started walking down the Seine with no particular destination in mind. Except home. Which is probably 10 kilometers from Notre Dame. But I live in the best place to live in Paris: on the bank of the Seine across from the Eiffel Tower. Which means that, from nearly anywhere in Paris, I can get home without a problem because one of those two things is almost always visible, and I just follow the flow of the Seine or the general direction of the Tower, and eventually I make it to my place. Lovely. The Seine curves, though, so it is not particularly a direct route... but whatever. I walked and walked and walked, passing the Galerie Kevorkian, an art gallery in the 1st whose owner I pity, and a life-size replica of the Statue Of Liberty’s flame, given by the US to France on the 100th anniversary of the Statue of Liberty being given to America by France. The torch has a nice message inscribed on it (in French) about the US’s good relationship with France... But the odd part about the whole thing is that the torch is placed directly in front of the underpass where Princess Di was killed 10 years ago. (Just for the record, it wasn’t really a tunnel– it’s more of a long underpass) Anyway, because she was killed there, people are always coming and leaving her notes and flowers at the torch, which is probably Elton John’s fault (as most world problems tend to be), but the torch has been there for a million years and has nothing to do with her. That sounds callous– that’s not what I meant. But Madame Laudet was the one that told me about it all (we only live about a mile from it), and she said that she just "can’t understand it– it’s not the Princess’s statue, and when she died all the FRENCH people went to the torch and cried, and why in the world should they be crying, when they can probably everyone one of them trace their history back to someone that was killed trying to get rid of the French monarchy!?"
I ended up walking all the way home, crossing two of my top 5 favorite bridges in the world... A list, just so you know:
1. The unnamed bridge somewhere in North Georgia that I once jumped off of. (If all your friends... well, yes, quite honestly, I would.)
2. Pont Neuf, Paris, France, Ile-de-la-Cite to the Right Bank. Once completely covered with roses by Kenzo as a statement of modern art.
3. Marienbrucke, Fussen, Germany. 1500 meters or something like that above the water, in the mountains, built by a crazy king who was eventually drowned by a jealous brother in the waters below.
4. Pont Alexandre III, Paris, France. Gift of the Russian Empire in a vain attempt to keep Napoleon from invading. Or something. At least one fact in that sentence is wrong, but I am not sure which one, and I like my version the best.
5. Sunshine Skyway, Tampa, Florida. If you have ever driven over this, you will know why.
So I walked home, in the shoes I call my Cinderella shoes– they cost 10Euro at Cote-a-Cote, the cheapest boutique in the Latin Quarter, and they are made out of something shinier and cheaper than vinyl, but they are plain and flat and look exactly like the shoes Cinderella and Snow White wore before they became, you know, princesses. However, they are also falling apart, probably because they cost 10Euro and I’ve worn them... well... a lot, because they are princess shoes, so how could I not? Which means every time I step in a puddle (a rather frequent occurrence in this blessed city), the mud leaks in the front a little bit. But until they bite it, I refuse to quit wearing them.
I got talked to twice by guys walking the opposite direction by themselves; this is what I don’t understand about Parisian men: I have my headphones on, and (as previously mentioned sometime in January) can thus not hear what is going on outside them, the point of headphones. BUT if you are going to talk to me, then start when you are still in front of me, because if I see your mouth moving, I will assume it is because you are talking to me and not yourself (not always correctly) and take out one earbud (only one, so you know that I can easily put it back in and ignore you if you are lame and also to show you that you are not quite important enough for me to completely stop what I am doing. This sounds hyper-rude, but the first thing you learn living in a foreign country is not to walk around answering every person who talks to you) and answer you in a timely manner. But if you stare at me the whole time we are coming toward each other, and then wait until we are right next to each other and say something, you get nothing from me because all I end up hearing is "Mumblemumblemumble TAKES MY PAIN AWAY... mumblemumblemumble" and the "pain" part is what was coming through the headphones, not what is coming through your mouth. You are the other part. So don’t do that, because not only is it just annoying, but it also makes me curious as to what you could possibly have to say that you were afraid to say to my face AND then you stop walking as I keep going, as though I’m going to answer you instead of continuing to listen to Jimmy Eat World which is way more interesting and significantly more intelligible than you.
It’s kind of a shame that, at the ripe old age of 21, I have had the opportunity to perfect my "Leave me alone, I am ICE WOMAN and if you talk to me I will breathe fire in your general direction like venom from a snake straight into your eyes, temporarily blinding you and rendering you permanently infertile." But obviously that same threat has to be completely readable on my face in French and not in English, because if it is in French, the English-speaking sketch-os automatically lay off, and the French ones, if they think you are native, take the threat seriously and leave you alone. But I spend too many nights coming home on the Metro alone at 1230am to feel comfortable looking friendly.
~Miss Murder