autumns you know sad eyes

i'm officially in france, i guess. the country's decided it's time to shut down again. my university held a huge meeting in the courtyard in the middle of my campus. about 3000 students voted, and enough kids voted to shut down the school that they were running into the buildings and had all the entrances barricaded within 15 minutes. i think there are now maybe 20 universities in the country that are partially or completely shut down or physically occupied by students. the transportation workers are striking indefinitely, so there are no trains running. the inner-city transportation is still functioning, but maybe not for long. the civil servants join the massive protest on the 20th, along with the teachers.

it's weirdly surreal to be in this situation. in athens, the strikes were always something to talk about and laugh about; or cry and choke at, i suppose, if you got too close to the tear gas. now i'm being told by my professor that i might have to climb out the window to escape, and to continue reading until we have class again. it's kind of hysterical, if you think about it. they're striking against working, against going to class, against having to pay for it. and their way of accomplishing it is by, well, not working, not going to class, not paying for it. in a way, this is the most logical relationship between a government and its people. on the other hand, it's france. my lit professor lowered her eyes and said, 'Bon, oui. La France peut manifester, nous pouvons dire, 'revolution.' mais les francais peuvent pas reformer des choses.'

i have my 2nd meeting tomorrow at the high school i might teach at. i'm assuming it's still happening. the school is 400 years old. yeah, the high school. good point, my country's not that old. it's also very Catholic. mmhmm. there was a rather large picture of the pope on the headmaster's wall. as in, his head was bigger than mine. should i have capitalized Pope? i guess i probably feel guilty either way.

thanksgiving is soon. it's getting cold here and they put up christmas lights. they're nice, and mostly red. i was reading at a cafe last night and 5 men walked in, whipped out worry beads, and started speaking greek like it was the most comfortable thing in the world. it's not. i dropped my book on the floor.

where do you live?

Brown Blues.

Allons-y.

I'm leaving for Paris in 12 hours. I think I've been back in France for less than 100. But when I was taking my lovely commuter train ride from De Gaulle on Monday afternoon, the leaves were falling off the trees, and I'm afraid to wait too long. It's been a good month or so since I've been inside the Pompidou. And the river there is nicer.

Rome was a little much, but it was nice to feel that again. It's ridiculous to compare it to anything, but I guess we all know what I'm comparing it to. It's cleaner. Assisi was absolutely incredible. We wandered down this street and found a guy and his gallery. He told Jenn in Italian that I understood but couldn't respond to that his work now was characterized by Christ Living. I bought a really nice white and purple angel. Venice is exactly what you expect. It's very pretty, under all the tourists. We went two separate days, once with Jenn's parents, and again so that I could get a Christmas present for my parents. Bologna leans. And we went to this church that was originally supposed to be 7 churches inside one and my ears started ringing. Ferrara is bricks. Bicycles. A huge apartment and homemade lasagna and only a little cloudy. I had never been to Italy. Louder, maybe. Harder to navigate. When you say grazie, they look at you nicely. As opposed to s'il vous plait, which immediately gets you foreigner status. The French aren't that polite. It was very nice to be outside this hexagon for a little while, but I feel a lot better now about being back in it. I guess that's what it takes.

I had my first test on Tuesday morning. 45 minutes to translate a detailed text about squirrels playing a game of tag from English into French. I mean, spiraling and jolting up the corrugated bole of a Canadian poplar. At this rate, I might be in college a little longer than expected.

And I might end up working at a high school here, preparing kids for the English sections of their Baccalaureat. I have to set up a meeting with the headmaster and draft a resume in French before next Wednesday. We'll see. I don't know if I even have time, with all of this sitting around I do.

I go home in 6 weeks. To eat veggie burgers and thai food, to drink coffee and soy chai, to possibly go camping for two days in West Texas, and to get on a plane and come back. It's frustrating, you know, but I don't think I even know how to live in America anymore. Ugh, that was so asshole-y. Desolée.

A plus, donc. Je vous aime.