Je Suis Malade

Complètement mala-deeee.

Complètement, non. Mais je retire tout ce que j'ai pu dire sur le fait que je donnerais tout pour être malade à la place de ma fille. Putain, une semaine que je me traîne sa merde de gastro et je suis toujours pas remise alors que j'ai pris des cachetons probablement 10 fois plus forts que les siens. 

Sans déconner. Lundi déjà, au boulot, j'étais pas jouasse. J'ai été en vidange toute la journée, heureusement, pas seule mais alors y'a eu 2 moments, au dessus de 2 bacs à graisse, je me suis dis, oh là, si je reste là, je vais dégueuler mes tripes. Et puis non. 

Arrivée à la maison, j'étais au lit à 20h30, après avoir zappé le repas du soir. Déjà le midi, je m'étais fait violence pour avaler un bol de soupe et il m'a pesé tout l'après-midi. Bref, je partais me vider aux toilettes toutes les demi-heure environ. C'est quand mon homme est rentré vers 21h30 et que je lui ai demandé de se grouiller à m'apporter une bassine que je me suis dis que la nuit serait longue. 

Et comment.

C'est vers 1h30 que les choses ont pris une autre ampleur. Je suis descendue (oui parce qu'on n'a pas de toilettes à l'étage et que les 2 chambres sont précisément à l'étage!) pour la énième fois histoire d'éviter de me faire dessus et surtout, de m'oublier dans le lit conjugal! Sauf que, n'ayant quasiment rien avalé depuis le dimanche soir et ayant passé une grande partie de ma journée et de ma nuit de lundi à me vider, je suis tombée dans les pommes. Non mais sérieusement. J'ai repris connaissance, j'étais tombée des toilettes, la gueule dans le mur, un pied coincée derrière la cuvette, je ne me souvenais pas être tombée donc forcément, j'ai mis un certain temps à comprendre où j'étais et ce que je faisais dans cette position. Tout ça dans le noir hein, parce que la nuit quand je vais aux toilettes j'allume pas! 

Je suis parvenu, tant bien que mal, à remonter sur les toilettes, pour me revautrer aussi sec (je pense que je me suis re-évanouie puisque je n'ai aucun souvenir d'être tombée une deuxième fois). En tout cas après ma deuxième perte de connaissance, j'ai réussi à rester assise sur la cuvette. J'ai fermé les yeux, j'ai même dû m'assoupir un moment. L'idée de devoir remonter les escaliers m'épuisait. Celle d'appeler pour qu'on m'aide encore plus. J'ai finalement réussi à regagner mon lit. J'ai quand même prévenu B. de ce qui venait de m'arriver. Il me sort: appelle mon père pour lui dire que tu ne vas pas bosser demain! Euh, à 2h du mat? Je pense que ça attendra encore quelques heures hein ...

J'ai quand même été bosser le lendemain, et le surlendemain. Et le reste de la semaine. Parce que je suis une warrior! Mais bon. Une semaine plus tard et 4 kilos de perdus, je suis toujours loin d'être au top.

Donc ma fille, le jour où tu retombes malade, ce qui arrivera très certainement, ben, je serai là pour te donner tes médocs mais je ne souhaiterai plus jamais être malade à ta place.

Non mais!

Sick

Sick as a pig.

I'm taking everything I said about that "being sick instead of my daughter" 's crap back. Seriously. It's almost been a week since i caught her crappy stomach bug, i took meds probably 10 times stronger than hers and i'm still not 100%.

On Monday morning, i wasn't top notch. I was emptying fosses pretty much all day but thank God i wasn't on my own. At one point, as we were cleaning a grease tank, i was like, oh dear, if i stay above that tank another split second, i'll puke my insides out. Miraculously managed not to.

So i went to bed at 8:30pm and to the bathroom pretty much every half hour. When my man came back home at around 9:30pm and i had to urge him to bring me a bucket in the toilets that i realized that things weren't looking good at all.

And boy, were i right.

It's around 1:30am that things took a whole different turn. I went downstairs (oh yeah, cuz we sleep on the first floor and there's no bathroom upstairs damn it) for the nth time in order not to shit myself or the bed! But on an empty stomach for a good 24h and after spending most of my Monday day and night emptying myself, let me tell you that i was far from being on top of my game. I passed out. Seriously. I passed out while i was sitting on the toilet! I regained consciousness some time later with my head against the wall, one of my legs stuck behind the toilet seat. Took me forever to realize where i was and how the bloody hell did i end up on the floor. Obviously, all of this happening in pitch black darkness since i never turn on the light when i go the the bathroom at night!

I managed to get back up, lost consciousness a second time, got up again, sat on the toilet for a while, closed my eyes, most likely fell asleep for some time. I was exhausted. The simple thought of having to climb those stairs again to go back to bed or to even call for help was killing me.

When i finally managed to get back to bed i told B. about what just happened. He told me: call my dad tell him you're not going to work in the morning. Hmm, it's 2 in the morning, i think i'll wait a little.

I know it's a terrible pun!

Long story short, i went to work in the morning, and the next, and the rest of the week as well. Cuz i'm a warrior. But a week and 4 kilos down later, i'm still not completely cured.

So my dear daughter, next time you're sick, and i know it'll happen again one day ... you're on your own!

I Get Knocked Down

But I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down ...

Ah ah ah, pretty sure you got that song stuck in your head now. It happened to me. To get knocked down and to get that song stuck in my head in the aftermaths.

I gave up on karate classes at the end of May. I was pregnant and didn't want to risk getting hurt or hurt the baby. And since i went on a maternity leave a whole 3 months earlier than expected, needless to say i didn't do much physical efforts at all. 

When my OB/GYN told me i could start practicing again, weeeee, I was so excited. Waited until after the Christmas holidays and went back on the tatamis. 

I felt stiff with very contracted movements but enjoyed being back in action.

I'm not a very good karateka, I'm just green belt (without any practice in 9 months). So i was a bit nervous to have to play pretend in a fight with a brown belt. The guy is nice and he's obviously a lot better than i am but i knew he wouldn't be an ass and try to voluntarily hurt me. 

Since he's also a lot taller than i am, he swept me a few times with indecent ease. Except that on the last "fight", i got knocked out. And no, i didn't get up again. I didn't even hit my head, it was my hip that hit the floor and i was K.O.

My eyes filled up with tears instantly. Not from the pain but from a rage that crept from inside me at the speed of light. I couldn't get up or speak. I could see and hear what was going on around me but i was unable to function. It's an extremely frustrating feeling. I was short of breath and i was angry. I was so freaking angry I could barely keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks.

That's when i knew i could never have been an athlete. I can't handle losing, i can't control myself, i can't keep a clear mind of what's going on, rage blinds me. It's terrible.

And it's kinda scary as well. To be KO i mean. It's that weird feeling that you have zero control over what's going on. You can't talk, can't breathe well. You can't handle yourself basically.

Bruno has been in the martial arts for over 20 years and he knew what to do to make me get my shit and mind together again. But he mentioned something i thought was interesting. In boxing, when someone gets knocked out easily (even if he/she doesn't get hit in the head or face), they're called "tender". So yeah, I'm tender. Just because, apparently, my brain is not glued to my skull, it's easy to knock me down. 

Good thing I'm not planning on taking over the world with my karate moves!

hihihi, you can hate me now!

Tattoo And Scar

A few years ago, I decided to go for my 3rd tattoo and I wanted it to be, just like the other 2 I had already, meaningful. I wanted something that wasn't hype back then, I wanted a henna design, but made with real ink, and one with a special meaning. 

I said it before, I'll say it again, Internet has yet to fail me and I looked for a design I actually liked and investigated the meaning it had. And I found one, one that women normally had applied on their feet, on their wedding day, in order to celebrate their new married woman "condition". Not too sure if I'm being very clear but in a fewer simpler words, it means: I'm married or better, I'm getting married, woohoo, let's celebrate.

Since I was newly single after 12 years of being in 3 long relationships back to back, I thought that yeah, that was a nice way of celebrating my new "condition",not as a married woman but as a single one. Yeah, I know it may sound paradoxical to use that particular design for the complete opposite of what it's supposed to be meaning but 

a) i do what i want, 

b) unless i tell people, nobody knows what that design means (not in my circle of friends anyway!) 

and c) as i said, I do what the fuck i want.

Since I wasn't gonna do it on the foot ... I'll be honest here, I currently have close to a dozen tattoos and there is no way on earth I'll have one on one of my feet. I'm a wuss, I know it'll hurt like motherfucking hell and there is no way I'll do it there. Period. So since I wasn't gonna do it on my foot, I've decided for a more, let's say, private area: my pelvis. I thought that hey, I'm celebrating my condition as a single woman, might as well put it in a place close to a very private woman area. I don't know if I'm making myself understood but I know what I mean. I'm twisted. I have weird ideas. What can i say?

Anyway, being a wuss on the foot area ... well, should I have known better. Waxing is already a bitch pain-wise, tattooing your pelvic area, yeah, well, bad idea. It's painful like you have no idea. During the entire hour I had it done, I kept on thinking: what the heck was I THINKING?

But the result exceeded my expectations:

Fast forward a decade later almost and I'm pregnant and about to give birth. Except that I ended up having a c-section. And even though it's a surgery and you're under anaesthesia, it's only half your body which is numb hence you can actually chat with the surgeon. Not that you really want to (especially since I was struggling to stay awake and that, well, he has to get the baby out of you being careful not to bleed you to death).

Anyway, the surgeon told me in a "I'm-so-sorry" voice that he had to cut right in the middle of the tattoo. Above would be too high and under would be too low. I told him not to worry since I honestly couldn't care less at that point but he apologized a few times after that.

When he came visit the following day, he apologized again about having to cut my tat right in the middle and said: you can ask your tattoo artist to retouch it once it's healed. And I thought, yeah, well, nope, not happening. Not only does that particular body part hurt like hell to tattoo but my tattoo artist is in Mexico and also, tattooing a scar can be tricky. A lot of tattooers won't accept doing it: the skin's a different texture, the ink might not stick and I don't even want to think about the feeling.

Since pretty much every hospital staff who came check my c-section scar mentioned about the tattoo retouching, I realized a few things.

First of all, yeah, my beloved tattoo would be altered by a scar and I honestly didn't care. It's not that I had that scar made for nothing, it was to deliver my baby and I would have "pay" a way higher price would have I needed to.

But the biggest reason why I will not have it retouched is because this particular tattoo was initially a celebration of my new "condition" as a single woman. It's a girl power tattoo. In my eyes at least. And now it's been modified by a c-section scar. It's yet another condition as a woman who has now become a mother. What cooler way of adding meaning to it? There is no way I'll ever have it redone. 

EVER.

And honestly, the surgeon did one hell of an awesome job!

Why would I want to retouch it? It's PERFECT now. Just as it was perfect on day one.

My Rainbow Friends

I have gay friends. It's actually an understatement, i have tons of gay friends. When i was living in Mexico, most of my closest friends were gay. I wasn't making an effort for this, I don't know, i seem to naturally attract gay people. And the reason behind this is that it probably shows that whether you're gay or straight, or Black, or White, or Latino, a girl, a boy, tall, short, fat, skinny or riding a unicorn, i couldn't give a bigger fuck. I mean that has GOT to show somehow. 

In Mexico, and in Puerto Vallarta in particular (gayest Mexican destination apparently), people don't seem to mind gay people. At least, it didn't seem that way to me. I remember on my last job, two of my colleagues came out to me (separately) and i guess my answer to both was "ok, and?". I mean, really, does you being gay change something to the story you're telling me right now? Because a) i knew already and b) it doesn't make any difference. Not to me anyway. If i liked you before, chances are i'm still going to like you afterwards.

Same when a French friend of mine i found out on FB after years without any news from him wrote me back with a rather aggressive tone (or so it seemed in his mail) that he was gay and there, i had it. So i answered him in what i hope was a nice way by saying that he could very well be and do whatever the hell he wanted, i was just happy to have news from him and that was all my message was about. I wasn't fishing for intimate details of his personal life. I think it kinda shock him a bit. I mean, me being so accepting.

That's only when i got back to France and talked about it with my man that i realized (or was made to realize) that not everybody is like me, oh dear, far from it, and that in France in general, it is still quite a taboo. Something people try to avoid mentioning and if they really have to, always do so reluctantly and/or despisingly. 

Well to me, this behavior is shocking.

End of it all, gays are just human beings. Sometimes, yes, they do fall into the stereotypes of the drama queen and the truck driver but seriously, seeing a guy (OK a drag) wearing 25cm heels and dancing in them better than i can ever do with flats should put everybody in their rightful place.

I love my gay friends (as much as i love my straight friends). I remember one day, one of them told me that it was so relaxing for him to chat with me cuz i wasn't making judgements on anything he'd ever say. As i told him, well, if you ask my opinion about something, i will give it to you even if i know it's not what you'd like to hear. But i believe that's what friends are for. You'll always find tons of people ready to criticize your every move, so for me, being a friend is to stand by you. Period. I'm not saying that you should blissfully agree on everything your friends do or say, sometimes, everybody needs a little reality check, but your sexual orientation will never have anything to do with how i feel about you.

And i believe that as long as what your neighbor does with his/her life doesn't affect your life, your liberty and your safety/health, then why the heck should you care about it?

I understand that it must be so hard for people to come out. And i'm sorry to say that my homecountry of France is no exception to this. It shouldn't be that way. You don't decide one morning that oh, nice weather, let's be gay today. No. It's like your eyes color or your skin tone. You're born that way (no pun intented and no Lady Gaga quote either even if the song is stuck in my head now ...) It broke my heart last year when, at a friend's gathering (class of ... kinda reunion, 15 years without seing eachother for the most of us), my previously mentioned gay friend was never asked how his life was going. I mean we all knew he's gay. It's not a disease, it's not contagious. I was the only one sitting with him and asking him, so how's life going for you? Your travels, your job, your love life, you're seeing someone? Oh, you mean that guy i always see yourself pictured with is not your man but a friend, ok, cool. Sorry you had your heart broken last year, the right guy will come up, just like for the rest of us ;) Everybody wants to be accepted. And asking him the same questions i asked my girl friend some time prior was a natural for me. And i can say that he was only too pleased to answer me.

sorry couldn't help 3:) jijiji

47 Hours 39 Minutes

That would be the amount of time (sorry, i didn't check the seconds) that I've been without a computer. And I believe me knowing the exact amount of time I've been without speaks for itself. I haven't been without an Internet connection since we live in a world of medias and cellphones. I can access Internet with my cellphone and/or my man's computer but it's not quite the same thing as on my personal laptop.

Apart from being my way of connecting to the outside world, my laptop is, with my camera, my most precious belonging. Because I'd say my entire life is on it. I have pictures of a long gone time, pictures I know for sure I'm the only one having since I've never shared them with anybody, i have years of work paperwork, texts I've written, tons of music, a few videos and well, you know, stuff i care about. And a few days ago, the tragedy, my laptop is on but not on. I mean it all acts and sounds like it's on and running except that well, it's not: black screen and all. And i can't turn it off.

I took it to the computer's hospital yesterday, some guy's company judiciously called S.O.S. 16 (France is divided in states called "départements" and they each have a number related to how they place alphabetically). The surgeon took it and told me he'd let me know. If my laptop is dead, well, so be it, but i truly want my data back.

I'm not foreseeing the worse. I will get an external hard-drive to stock all my shit on as soon as i get it back and then i promise I'll take better care of my next computer, or this very same laptop when/if i get it back alive and kicking, trying not to eat and/or drink too close not to drop anything on it, I'll carry it in a proper case (not in my handbag) and well, give it the reverence it truly deserves.

On a side note, it's amazing how much time you have and how much things you can actually do when you're not glued to your screen. I've read two books, did some gardening, completed several sudoku and actually took time to write a few texts the old fashion way: with a pen and a paper. I think i might actually be a computer/Internet addict.

Gasp.

The Day I Should Have Become A Mother

I took me a while to convince myself this was the right thing to do. Because it was a very challenging ordeal and honestly, i feel that I've had quite my shares of those already. 

There's no soft way of saying this so i'm gonna throw it on there just like it was, just the way it felt when i understood what was happening: i had a miscarriage. 6 months ago, i lost a baby that was so very much desired and wanted and today was my supposed due date.

Tough.

I've heard and read that losing a child is the worse possible ordeal a parent can go through. I've seen my parents going through hell and 3 years later, i'm not even sure they're back from it. Life goes on though. I might say, maybe out of spite, maybe to reassure myself, that it was probably better to lose the baby (for lack of a better word since i don't feel like calling it a fetus, i saw its beating heart) 10 weeks into the pregnancy than having to abort it because of a malformation or having a still born but still. 10 weeks into a pregnancy, 1 week shy of my first trimester's ultrasound, trust me, we already had quite some time to get around the idea that it had finally worked out and we were going to welcome 2016 in style, with a baby. 

Not so fast.

I'd be lying if i said i wasn't affected by it. Or that my man wasn't affected by it. We cried our eyes out, for days, and even months later, there are moments that are hard. Since i miscarried, i heard about 6 pregnancies, amongst which my sister in law's who told us a mere 3 weeks after we had lost ours. And hearing her telling us lightly that it was an accident, i honestly could have crucified her. Sorry if i'm not over the moon with the announcement, we lost ours 3 weeks ago, i had to go through a clinical abortion to clean my uterus of any residual baby stuff so not quite my happy little self right now.

Needless to say i called my mom right after i heard that news and crucified her on the phone. And again, my mother, amidst all the flaws that she might have, said something wise that brought me some kind of peace of mind.

She told me that my sister in law might be the biggest bitch walking this planet, she is absolutely NOT responsible in any way of what happened to me. And she was right. It's nobody's fault. My man used to work in Quality Management and used a sentence that was spot on: faulty piece, destruction mode on.

One out of 5 pregnancies ends in a miscarriage. Odds are the same each time you're pregnant. Meaning that it's not because you lost a child before the pregnancy term that you're safe for the next 4. It doesn't make it any easier but it kinda help put things into perspective. 

We talked about it with friends and we were shocked to see how many of them came out with similar stories. Whereas it happened to them directly, to a sibling, a cousin or a close friend, not a single one of them haven't experience a miscarriage. Why is it still such a taboo? No idea.

I guess a miscarriage is, in some ways, like giving birth. Nobody ever tells you all the gory details about it. So here i am for just this!

10 weeks into my pregnancy, i started bleeding one evening, called French 911 panicking, decided to wait up until the following morning and woke my man up at 6am to ask him to take me to the ER. Waited there 4 hours crying my eyes out after an intern had examined me but couldn't tell me anything cuz you know, he's just an intern. Then the OB/GYN who had been called on an emergency c-section confirmed my biggest fear, i had lost it. Not my mind, but the baby (even though i was very close to lose my mind as well). Honestly, he was awesome. We arranged, between rivers of tears, an appointment for the surgery for the following week, i had to take pills to start the job (it's pills you take when you want to abort), bled for an entire week like I've never bled before (grossest periods ever), got under anesthesia, got the procedure done and was out of the hospital the same day. The pads they gave you in the hospital are almost as thick as adult diapers. Never in my entire life had i bled that much. It was like my body was catching up on the 2 months i hadn't had my periods and making me pay interests on this as well. Jeez. I had a 3 WEEKS long periods. 

A month later, everything was back to normal with my cycle.

I'm not writing all of this to get sympathy. This is so not my thing. I'm writing this to get closure. The cycle of it all is done. I got pregnant, miscarried and then my due date came and went. End of story.

We keep on trying. Every month. It's hard not to think about it, not to focus on what date is supposedly good, not to fuck with the sole purpose of reproducing. It's hard. We know it works. And as my man said, if we can't have one on our own, there are many options that can work for us. But we'll be parents one day. Some bad ass parents with a 8th wonder of the world of our own...

It's Been Forever

It's been almost 6 months without me writing a single word in there and i won't make an apology because there are no other reason than me being lazy. I always have tons of stuff to write about cuz let's be honest, i have this amazing ability to attract the crazy, the unusual, the odd and the fantastic. 

So even though this ain't an apology for being a lazy ass, it's a little note to let you know that, well, i'm back! So buckle up and get ready!

Finally Found a Lefty Mug

I know what you're gonna say: a lefty mug? What the hell is that? And if you're talking about a mug that is made for left-handed people, allow me a little laugh, a mug is like a glass or a pen, it's not made for right or left-handed people, there is just one side to it.

NO.

NO, NO and NO!

That is where you guys are so very wrong. 

I totally agree on the fact that a glass, or a pen don't have a side. Whether you're right-handed or a lefty, it doesn't matter, you can use it. But there are so many objects that DO have a side and a mug is one of them. How, you're gonna ask? Because the print is on the right side. Not right, the opposite of left, right, the correct side of the mug. 

When you hold a mug in your hand, you normally don't face the image on it. Well in 99% of the cases, i do. Cuz i hold my mug in my left hand. 

But the other day, we bought a few mugs with the "lapins crétins" (idiot rabbits) on them. And one of them is the Holy Graal of the mug for lefties ... It's the biggest one, a black one and i love it! Just because i now feel that this mug was specially made for me :D

Now, i need to find a fish knife that is made for me as well and my life will be complete!

Yes, cuz fish knives have a side too ...

I Have OCD

I just realized that i do have OCD. Not in a big kinda way but i do have at least one little thing i cannot deal with without being overly uncomfortable. 

OCD is a disease. And i know for a fact that i'm not sick. But i have this obsession that i can't control. I'm fully aware of it and not sorry about it nor suffer from it.

My obsession is that my tea cup (or coffee cup) has to be full to the brim. Always. If the liquid doesn't come up to the top, i re-heat some more water to make sure it does. 

On Tuesday morning, my tea was almost 1cm lower than the edge of my giant mug and i thought, sod it, i'm not heating more water. And at the same time, i thought, well, this is not a good start to a day.

Little did i know that on that very same day, i had 3 breakings on the tractor and couldn't finish what i had started the day before. 

So from now on, even if it sounds stupid, picky or demanding, i don't care, i'll ask for more water to make sure my cup is full the way it should ...

Life In The Slow Lane

As of today, i have started a new job and oh, what a 180º turn around it's been! I am now officially a farmer. I don't work with animals, i work with the land. So obviously, I've had to learn how to drive a tractor. And god knows it's nowhere close to driving a car. Or a truck since i now can. But let's put those details aside for now. 

On my first day, my boss, who happens to also be my father-in-law, brought me to a big ass field (17 something hectares to be exact), showed me how to drive the tractor, drew a couple of lines with it to show me and then told me, OK, off you go, call me if you have a problem. 

And there i was, alone, in the middle of the field, thinking of all the buttons and shit i had to do before even thinking on moving the tractor and more than a hundred and seventy thousand square meters of land to furrow. 

I followed big boss's advice, got myself in 4th of the slow gear, blocked the speed to 5km/h and off i was. FIVE FREAKING KILOMETER AN HOUR. Do you even realize how stupidly SLOW that is? 

Well so i thought. Up until i actually got going ... and then trust me, in a field, behind a wheel of a tractor, 5km/h shakes the crap out of you and it truly feels like you're going 100km/h. And honestly, it helps you put things into perspective. 

I have seen, while in that field, animals i hadn't seen in years: all kind of birds, hares, rabbits, mice, all kind of insects and butterflies and this quietness i was so longing for. Obviously, the tractor's engine is loud but in the air conditioned cabin with the radio on, i'm like in a cocoon, all by my lonesome self.

And i'm going slow. Very slow.

And it feels good.

Here, time seems to have stopped. And after all the frenzy of the city and life in general, it's a huge bowl of fresh air.

I'm loving every second of it.

I Drink Boiling Water

When i drink coffee, or tea, or soup, it always has to be boiling hot. I've never really question it, it's always been that way i've liked it and well, it has to be that hot for me to actually enjoy it. I also take showers that are probably hotter than most of anybody's morning coffee cup but that's another story.

So i never really paid more attention than that to the fact that i drink pretty damn hot liquid. Up until my man actually made me notice it. He wondered why. I had no answer, it's just always been that way. 

Then one day, we were at my parent's house and i realized, after a comment my dad made, that my mom also drink super hot coffee. And i thought that, there you go, i must have gotten that from her! Mothers and fathers pass on habits to their children and i did just that. And i immediately thought, well, then, problem solved (supposing that's a problem, which i don't think it is in the first place!)

Drinking boiling water being an established fact now, my man and i didn't fuss about it any longer (nor that we even did before). At least, not up until my aunt invited us over for lunch at her place. She's my mom's older sister. 

We have lunch together, and then she obviously offers coffee or tea at the end. I chose tea and notice that she poured boiling water in my cup. I smiled at my man and told him, see, it's obviously running in the family, we must have gotten that habit from my grand mother then! 

And that's when my aunt told me: you don't know why, on this side of the family, we drink boiling water? I was shocked: WHAT? there's actually a REASON behind it?? AWESOME. I want to know!!

My grand mother was the 12th child of 12 and her mother died when giving birth to her. So she was brought up by one of her elder sister. In 1918, there was this massive flu pandemic in Europe (we call it Spanish flu in French but not too sure it translate that way in English) that took the life of millions of people (between 50 and 100!!) and lasted for about 2 years! After it was "over", one of my great-grand-aunt prided herself on making it through because she always drank her coffee and her soup BOILING HOT. So all her brothers and sisters (my grand mother included, even thought she was just a child back then) started to drink super hot in order not to be infected if that dreadful flu would come back.

Let's be honest, drinking that hot is USELESS. But it's a family tradition that has passed onto 3 generations now. After i heard that story, i even remembered my mom telling me to drink extra hot when i was sick (cuz it would supposedly kill all the germs!!).

I don't know if i'll pass it on one day too. But i love that kind of old story ... It kinda give me a feeling of belonging to a clan that's long gone. Grandma, i think of you everytime i drink my tea. Of you and all this gigantic family of yours that i didn't get the chance to know.

Long life to the boiling water drinkers clan!! :D

Bronchitis, Yet, Again!

I'm sick ... like i'm-dying-come-help-me sick. 

I went to the doctor.

It's bronchitis.

Again.

Third time in two years. Fourth if the pneumonia i got also count in the lot!

FUCK. THAT. SHIT. 

My New Year Resolutions

What? It's January 22nd? OK and your point is?? :D

I remembered recently about the Mexican tradition of NY celebration and resolutions. I actually wrote a post about it (and you should definitely read it, obviously, since i'm an awesome writer and shit!). So i was thinking, hum, i didn't do a "things i want this year" list for 2014. Maybe going to bed at 11:30pm on the 31st of December, saying to my man, happy new year and good night pretty much at the same time didn't set the right mood for it. 

So anyway, i was thinking about what i might want the other day. As i said a few years back, i don't feel like i need anything. I'm happy with what i have right now. Obviously, getting a job that earns me big bucks would be awesome (instead of working 2 jobs for a shitty wage), moving apartment would be amazing but apart from that, well, i couldn't think about much more.

But i still came out with something. After spending a week-end at my uncle's, talking about this insane relationship with my mother (whom we all agreed, is a bully), we've set a goal for 2014: being able to tell my mom to fuck off. But maybe that's not the kind of new year resolution or goal that fits in the books. 

So on a more serious point of view, i'd like to write more. To write and to read more. I love writing in my blog, i have internet at home now which means i have no excuse for not writing more often. I have various topics i can discuss and write about and well, not another reason than laziness not to do it. So i'm gonna try to write at least once a week. That'd be better than once every trimester!!

Same for reading. I have a zillion books to read, a subscription to the local library and i don't take time to read. What do i do instead? I play on my cellphone. This is TRAGIC. But i have already started to try to change this and i put a book in my bag. So now, when i'm waiting wherever i need to wait, i read instead of playing. I guess it's just a habit to re-establish in my routine.

So there, my NY list of resolutions: write more, read more and standing my grounds more against my mom.

Happy New Year everybody!

I Weight 72kg

Trust me, it came as a shock for me too. I was sick last week so i went to the doctor and naturally, he asked me to step on the scale. And BAM, 72kg. My first thought was, his scale is completly wrong, it can't be accurate, no freaking way i weight 10 more kilos than 6 months ago. And since i was visiting my parents just a few days later, i hopped on their scale, just to check (up until that week end, i didn't own a scale). And BAM, 71.3kg. On their other scale, 71kg. Right out of bed, with no food in and after the mandatory morning bathroom stop.

HOLY. MOTHER. FUCKING. CRAP.

It's just a number, it's just a number, it's just a number. I have to convince myself it's just a number. Cuz end of it all, it is. Just a number i mean.

My mother is OBSESSED with my weight. I've never been thin, never been fat either. I'm just naturally well built, with meat on my bones and a fair enthousiasm when it comes to eating. But i do sports. And honestly, i do quite a fair bit every week. I do 30 minutes of crossfit 5 days a week and i walk a good 15km (if not more) distributing all my publicity. I eat well, and by well i mean well-balanced, i don't drink sodas, i don't eat junk food, i have the occasional piece of chocolate, i don't put too much sugar in my tea and i don't eat like a dog. But still, my mom thinks i need to watch my weight.

Well you know what? This is the heaviest i've ever been in my entire life. Yet, this is the best i've felt in my entire life. I do have a little belly i could do without but i've never been stuckier, firmer and fitter than i am right now. I feel good in my own skin, i like what i see in the mirror, i'm happier than i've been in a long time and i have more energy than most people half my age. So yeah, the number on the scale is just that: a number. And i'm not gonna let anybody making me believe i need to go on a diet cuz i don't. Not even you, mother.

Now if you allow me, i'll go indulge on a piece of chocolate :P

5 de Mayo

It's been 11 years. ELEVEN YEARS. Eleven years that I've been living here in Mexico. I never thought i'd stay this long, i never thought i would ever come to realize that damn, i'm actually going to miss this place.

Me in Mazatlan, early May 2002

11 years ago, i entered Mexico by bus, from Los Angeles, through one of the busiest border city: Tijuana. I was heading South, and i spent my first 22 hours on Mexican territory in a bus, got stopped and the entire bus searched out a few times by armed-up-to-their-eyeballs military men in balaclavas, little did i know back then that this supposed 3rd world country was the place i was going to call home for the next 11 years.

I believe the real date stamped on my passport was May 3rd. But then the IMM (Mexican Immigration Institute) got it wrong and stated that i entered the country on May 5th. And i kinda liked it better.

Me: why is everything closed today?

Taxi driver: because it's May 5th, we celebrate the Battle of Puebla.

Me: what happened during that Battle?

Taxi driver: Mexican army kicked the French army's ass!

*** sigh ***

It was in 1862.

And 140 years later, here i was. Doing my own personal revengeful invasion of Mexico. At the ripe age of 24.

Mexico is nothing like what the medias are showing or saying. It's an amazing country, with amazing people. It's been the place I've called Home for the past 4000+ days. And it would most likely have remained this way wouldn't have life gotten in the way.

My neighbors asked me to make a list of all the things i'll miss when i'm gone. So they can see, through my eyes, what i value most from their country. It's a great idea for a post. I'll work on it soon. We tend to forget what we have and even worse, forget to enjoy what we have while we have it for focusing so much on what we want. Life is short. Every minute counts. 

What i'll miss the most are the people I've met throughout these years and who have been, somehow and somewhat, part of my life and part of the person i have grown into. Realizing that i will probably never see some of them ever again drills a painful hole in my heart.

These 11 years were never planned. But I've came to realize that even the best laid plans go awry. Life is good. It's only just a new beginning :)

I'm In Pain

Apart from the fact that I've been exercising like crazy lately in order to get a killer body i might be able to brag about some day, i'm also currently in another dimension of pain: emotional pain. And the worse part of it is that it's not because of something that has happened to me, it's because of something a very close friend is going through. 

Out of respect for him, i will not explain what's the matter with him and his life. But he's about to hit rock bottom and there is not much i can do for him unless he allows me in. I wrote him this long and maybe a bit harsh email explaining him the way i felt about it all. I told him things he probably didn't want to hear but I've always believed the truth is better to a lie and more than often, a true friend is gonna be that one person who dares to hurt your feelings for you to hear what you need to hear, and not just what you want to.

As i told him, i believe real friendship is like holy matrimony, for better or worse, in sickness and in health and that is truly the way i feel for him. I don't care what he's done or might be doing, don't care if he's healthy or sick, wealthy or poor. I don't care either if i'm the only one standing by his side in front of a million people. What i care for is him. 

But about it all, i really truly hope that he knows all this. That no matter what, i'll be there for him. Now, and always. 

It's in times of sorrow and despair that you see who your true friends are. I don't want to be that person who's only there when it's all nice and good. This is just not who i am. 

I've always been good at being insensitive and somehow detached of human's emotions hence being rather gifted at cheering people up in that objective and rational way. If you're looking for a comfort blanket, i'm definitely not the right friend for you. But if you want a person who's not afraid to maybe hurt your feelings with the truth, then you've come to the right person.

I never meant to hurt him and if i did, i'll be sorry for quite some time. But what bothers me is that his pain, his frustration, his anger and his despair are hurting me too. I feel them like they were my own. I don't think I've ever felt this way before. This new person i'm becoming is wreaking havoc in me. I'm not used to this. 

So until i know how to manage all this, i just hope he'll reach out to me. I'm just offering a helping hand. And all that my heart has to offer.

Down Memory Lane

Since i now have all the time in the world but still need to start preparing my moving back to France, today, i decided to go through all the books i have on my book shelves. All the books and everything that has been sitting there for ever and gathering dust. And dear lord do i own stuff. It is amazing how much crap you're accumulating over the years and somehow, all that crap got carried from one place to another, one house to another over the past 11 years i've been to Mexico.

So today, i went through every single book i own and put aside the ones i want to take back home with me. The rest, i made 2 piles: the french books on one side, and the not in french books on the other side. And i'll give them all away (the ones i dont want of course).

As i was getting closer to the bottom of my shelf, i started to find bags of old pictures and old diaries of mine. Stuff so old it was from the time BEFORE i arrived to Mexico. This is some shit that is at least 11 years old. And i'm still carrying that around?

So i grabbed a gigantic garbage bag and started to review every single pictures i found. Seriously, there are some pictures of people i dont even recognize. Places i dont remember going to. And some of me, oh dear god, i wish i'd never seen. That's the problem when you see something. You can't un-see it. 

So i started tossing. And i actually tossed a LOT. Strangely, it was a mixed feeling to do this. A mixed feeling between nostalgia and detachment.

Nostalgia of a time that was and never will be again. About the people i was hanging out with then that i've lost touch with. About the places i had visited and seen that one time. About the person i was then.

But at the same time, i felt detached of all these things. Just like it wasnt part of me anymore. Just like if it was the pictures and the memories of someone else. That's actually the way it's been feeling lately. That this life i'm in right now doesnt belong to me anymore. That my time in Mexico has come to an end. In my head, i'm already gone. I now feel closer to the people in France (most of whom i only know virtually) than anybody here.

It's an odd feeling to go through 11 years of your own life. Especially when it's from your adult life. You see the bigger picture, you see the progression of where you were standing then and where you're standing now. Pictures, diaries, letters, newspapers, even little notes i was leaving for my boyfriend of the time. Reading these notes i wrote with my own hands so many years ago felt like a total intrusion into someone's intimacy. It felt like i was violating someone's secret memories. It even made me feel so uncomfortable i stop reading and disposed of it. 

I now understand why some people ask complete strangers to do all that sorting for them. You dont have the emotional involvement, it doesnt make old stuff surface and slither back in your life unexpectedly.

I didnt expect to find all this. Nor did i expect to be "affected" by it as i ended up being. I guess it made me grasp the scope of what i'm about to do. It's not really a chapter of my life i'm closing, it's an entire BOOK. And the next one is ready to be started, with a little terrifying detail: it's not written yet.

I'm Breaking Free

I have a lot going on. And by a lot, i mean A LOT. I actually need to follow my shrink advice and make a to-do list of all the loose ends that need to be tie up.

I havent been doing great lately and i really feel like my brain is about to implode. Actually, my doctor said that it's a normal "feeling" and that's generally the first signs of something more serious called depression: your brain is exhausted.

What do you have? I have brain exhaustion. LOL.

I shouldnt laugh, it really isnt funny. But i have this mental image of a brain looking like a cartoon flat tire... 

Anywaysssss.

So here i was, this morning over breakfast, doing the usual, harvesting and planting shit in my farm when it kinda hit me in the face: I AM ADDICTED TO FARMVILLE. And that bloody addiction is taking a tremendous chunk off of my free time hence diverting me from my need to be done. 

And trust me, when you're about to move back to your home country after 11 years abroad, a lot need to be done. Especially when you realize that almost half of January is already gone and that there are only 3 months left. And i thought it'd take forever. If i'm not more careful, by the time i'll wake up tomorrow we'll be in April already and none of what needs to be done will be.

So today, i took the time to advice my FV friends that i wouldnt be playing anymore. I've been an avid player for about 2 years now and i've met some amazing people thanks to it. They know who they are (wink wink). And when i made it back home, i cleaned up everything on each of my 8 farms, sent gifts to my friends, changed the set up on my newsfeed so i dont get any more FV notifications and BLOCKED the app. O_o

It's been 10 minutes. It feels weird. But a nice kinda weird. It feels like i'm breaking free from something that ceased to be fun and had started to control my life and my free time. I'm becoming the owner of my life again. How cool is that?