40 ans

Cette année est une "grande" année. Je change de décennie à savoir que je viens de passer le cap fatidique des 40 ans. Bon, je vais être honnête avec vous, c'était effectivement mon anniversaire le 18. Sauf qu'au matin du 18, je ne me suis sentie aucunement différente du matin précédent. En fait, c'est un peu comme ça tous les ans, à chaque anniversaire. Alors? Ça fait quoi d'avoir 40 ans? Ben, euh, rien. C'est un chiffre. Oui mais quand même, 40 ans, on fête pas ça tous les jours ... Comment dire? En fait, c'est le cas tous les ans. On ne fête ses 27 ans, ses 35, ses 50 ou ses 92 qu'une seule fois. C'est un peu le principe en fait. Le même âge ne revient pas quelques années plus tard, ah ba tiens, cette année, tu refêtes tes 35 ans, j'espère que t'as gardé les bougies! 

Donc du coup, c'est vrai, pas de grande fête pour mes 40 ans mais honnêtement, je n'en ai pas fait non plus pour mes 20 ou mes 30. Enfin, si, j'ai fêté mes 30 ans avec peut être un peu trop d'enthousiasme mais les circonstances étaient différentes. En fait, je préfère penser que je ferai un grande fête le jour où on pendra la crémaillère de notre chez nous. Je préfère annoncer la couleur de suite, c'est pas pour demain! Mais bon, peut être qu'on fera une méga fiesta pour les 40 ans de monsieur dans 6 mois.

Plusieurs jours ont passé depuis cette fameuse date socialement si importante et je ne ressens toujours aucune différence. C'est juste quand on me demande quel âge j'ai, que je réponds 40, que je me dis, putain ouais quand même, 40 ans c'est pas rien. Par contre, quand on me dit que ça y'est, je suis à la moitié de ma vie, euh non merci, je compte vivre au delà des 80 ans si ça dérange personne. Quand on voit la proportion de gens aujourd'hui qui atteignent haut la main les 90 ans, je me dis que non, je ne suis pas à la moitié de ma vie ... Peut être pas loin mais pas encore totalement à la moitié.

A part ça, c'est vrai que les nuits blanches, je mets une semaine à m'en remettre mais bon, c'était déjà comme ça à 30 ans. Et même si, surtout vis à vis de ma fille, je m’ôterais bien 10 ans des épaules, je me rends compte que chaque nouvelle décennie a ses avantages. A 40 ans, en général, on sait à peu près où on en est dans la vie. Bon, pas moi mais c'est pas grave. Ce n'est qu'une aventure de plus. Et puis on le dit partout, "orange is the new black" et 40 c'est le nouveau 30.

Bienvenue à moi dans le monde des quadras. Ça fait doucement sourire. Il parait que je fais pas mon âge. Tant mieux. Mais bon, une fois encore, l'âge, c'est quand même principalement dans la tête!

The Big 4-0

This year is a big year. I'm changing decade age-wise, meaning that i'm reaching that fateful age of 40. Honestly, it was indeed my birthday on September 18th but on that very morning, i didn't feel any different than the morning before. Actually, it's pretty much the same every year, at every birthday. So? How does it feel to be 40? Well, hmmm, nothing. It's just a number. Yeah well ok but 40, man, that's quite the mark! How should i put it? It's actually what happens with each and every single of your birthdays. You'll only celebrate your 27th, 35th, 50th or 92nd birthday once. It's actually how birthday work you know. They don't come back every other year, and bam, great, you just turned a few years younger, i hope you saved the candles from 5 years ago when you turned the same age!

So no big celebration for me for my big 4-0 but i don't remember having one for my 20th or my 30th either. Even though i must admit that i celebrated my 30s maybe a little bit too enthousiastically but circumstances you know ...

I'd rather have a big celebration when we'll do the house-warming party of the house we're currently remodelling. Let me be straighforward here, it's not gonna be soon. But maybe we'll have a big party for my man's big 4-0 in 6 months!

Several days have passed since that socialy so important date and i still feel no difference. It's only when i'm asked how old am i and i answer 40 that it kinda hit me in the face. Damn. 40. That's quite something!

But when people are telling me that i've reached the half of my life, i'm like hell no. I intend to live well pass 80 if you don't mind. When you see how many old farts are reaching (and passing well over) 90, i'm thinking that no, i'm not half way through my life. Not just quite.

Apart from that, true story, sleepless nights, well, takes me an entire week to get over it but it was already that way 10 years ago. And even though, especially regarding my baby girl, i'd glady take 10 years off of my shoulders, i realize that with each decade comes new good stuff. At 40, you normaly know where you're standing in life. Well, not me but oh well, it's just another adventure that's just starting. And you read it everywhere: orange is the new black, 40 is the new 30. Yeah, well whatever.

Welcome Me in the 40s. Makes me smile. Aparently, i don't look my age. Good for me. I don't feel it either. But again, age is just a number and in all honesty, it's all in the head!

Sad But True

The other night, as we were laying in bed, Bruno said something that really buggered me. It buggered me because when I came to think about it, I thought it was not only true but incredibly sad: technology has taken over us.

I'm pretty sure a lot of people don't actually care or think that'd matter but it's been such an incredible amount of time since the last time I read in bed before sleeping. What do I do instead? I play on my stupid phone. Not only is it not good to actually be in front of a screen just before going to sleep but it's also so much less stimulating intellectually.

I used to read tons and tons of books a year. But now, i barely read one a month. I have about 5 or 6 that I've started but not finished. They're laying around in the house, on my night stand, on my desk ... I'm TSUNDOKU all over the place! LOL.

I absolutely LOVE the fact that the Japanese actually have a word for that: TSUNDOKU is the condition of acquiring reading materials but letting them pile up in one's home without reading them. That is so accurate and so what's happening to me right now!

And it's not just the books that i'm leaving aside. I don't play sudoku anymore either. I used to fill up grids and grids every night. Well not anymore. Saaaad.

So today, i've decided something. Since i have just a week left before getting my ass back to work hence with not that massive amount of "free time" in my hands (i put it in between quotation marks cuz let's be honest, having to care for a 3 months old is no vacation whatsoever. And there is pretty much no free time!), I will have a week to acclimatize!

In order for me to allow myself to play a game of stupid candy crush (damn that's addictive!), i'll first have to either, read at least a few pages of a book or even better, an entire chapter, fill up a grid of sudoku, write a journal and/or write a blog entry.

That's an excellent reason to go through the dozens of books still unread, the hundreds of sudoku puzzles waiting to be solved and increase the amount of entries in the blog i have abandonned a bit over the past few years. And let's be honest. Either writing or reading is so much better for the head than candy crushing! LOL

It's a win-win situation! 

OK, gotta go now! These candies ain't crushing on themselves!

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.

I Contradicted A Doc

I don't know if you fathom the extend of such a sentence and act. I actually told a doctor that i disagreed with his diagnosis!

To be clearer, i disagree with my gynecologist's start date of my pregnancy hence my supposed due date and therefore, that my baby is not in the norm size-wise.

Needless to say that in order to actually speak out and tell him/her that you think (s)he actually made a mistake, you have to use a massive amount of tact. Medical staff don't like regular folks like myself telling them: sorry, not sorry, i don't agree with that.

As i mentionned it in an earlier post, my still in-utero baby is small. She's growing well so far but she's under the regular line of growth. Docs are estimating that she's between 10 and 15 days late. It's nothing you'll say, just like i thought as well, except that on a span of 9 months, it's quite a fair amount of time. Except that i disagree with them all on the starting of the pregnancy date. MY date being at least a week later than their. Actually between 7 and 10 days later than what they calculated. 

Obviously, pregnancy, conception times and due dates are not exact science unless you've had an IVF which wasn't my case. 

I mentionned it a few times to the many docs i've seen so far but i never felt heard. So i was like, yeah, well, whatever, i know they're off by at least a week, i'm not gonna worried about this all "too small" thing.

Except that i am tired. I'm exhausted. I could sleep pretty much all day and having to go back and forth to the hospital for monitoring the baby and ultrasound at least once if not twice a week is draining the little energy i have left out of me.

So when i saw my ob/gyn last Monday, i told myself, i HAVE to tell him that i disagree with him, i HAVE to get that load off of my shoulder and maybe, just maybe, he'll realize that yes, my baby is indeed a tiny baby but she's in between the regular growth lines and just fine.

Deep breath.

I used all my ingenuity and tact to tell him just that. I was actually pretty happy with the way it came out. And i was even happier with the way he reacted. He listened to me, double checked his measures and calculation, entered the measurements he did that day along with MY estimated date (8 days later than his) and printed the growth graph. 

And guess what?

It changed nothing. 

NOTHING.

DAMN IT.

The baby is still smaller than what she'd expected to be at the age she has. Whether she's 30 or 31 weeks old, she's still too small.

Which means that i'll still get monitored most likely every week until the end of my pregnancy, that i'll still get to see a ob/gyn every other week and even with all these precautions, i'll still most likely get a tiny baby. 

What worries me now? That she actually stops growing and that they have to trigger the birth a lot earlier than planned. Which might happen actually. 

Or she's just a happy go lucky tiny baby who has her mom already worrying for nothing!

End of it all, you should always say what you have weighing on your heart. It might not change the outcome of the situation but in my case, it surely eased my concerns that the hospital might do with me and my baby something that is not necessary. As i said, in my situation, it doesn't change much. But at least i've unloaded this off of my shoulders.

And it felt good.

Kunkush the Iraqi Cat

This morning, i read about the story of an Iraqi refugee family who took their beloved cat as they fled their home country. They had to cross several countries, take several boats and somewhere on the way, the cat got scared and they got separated. At that point of the story, my stomach constricted. I honestly only read the story because the title of the article was saying something like "happy ending for a refugee cat". I can't take violence, pain, suffering or heart-breaking stories when it comes to animals. 

I can't even begin to imagine how it must have felt for them. Well long story short, some vets/association in Greece actually found the cat and i don't know how, managed to find who its family was and tracked it down all the way up to Norway.

Poor cat was the center of attention obviously as all the medias were there to capture that moment, with flashes and mics and cameras and shit. He looked terrified but as soon as he got in the arms of his owner (who was in tears by the way, and at that point, so was I!), he seemed to relax and be at peace with the world. 

Happy ending.

Tears of joy.

Life is good.

This cat truly reminded me of my own cat Yeti. Not only because he's white also but because he's holding on to mommy dearest. It also reminded me how it felt when i dropped my 3 cats at the airport, worrying like crazy on how they'd do during that endless flight from Mexico to Paris. I also recalled the moment i stepped foot on French grounds only thinking about getting my cats back. I honestly couldn't have care less about my luggage at that point. I just wanted to see my cats. And we're talking hours. This family didn't know anything about their cats for MONTHS.

I was told I'd get them on the bulky luggage's carousel and i rushed there like a maniac. I heard them meowing from what seemed miles away but astonishingly, the second they saw me, they stopped. We were finally reunited, i hadn't abandoned them and it was good. Life was good.

After reading this story this morning, i looked at all my 3 stray Mexican cats and made the same pinky promise i did 3 years ago: i will never leave them behind. 

EVER.

Psycha

Yeti

Nina

Scar? What Scar?

Just saying ...

This is what my hand looks like 6 months later ... You can't even tell. 
Massive thanks to the hand surgeon who did that amazing job. 

Update on ... THE WOUND

I love it when i'm over dramatic!! But since a lot of people have actually inquired on how i am and how my wound is going, i thought i might just write a little update on my bad ass looking scar.

Stitches went off on Friday, so 5 days ago. Out of the 8 stitches, 3 of them were a bit more painful to extract but over all, it went just fine. My hand was covered over the week end for the sole reason that i attended my cousin's wedding and there was no way i wasn't getting any attention **laughs**. Seriously, i needed a reminder that my wound was still very fresh and a bandage did just that. Knowing how clumsy i am, without it, i might just have hit the scar or the inside of my hand and reopen the wound. 

However, when on Sunday night, i got rid of both the band aid and the bandage, holy sweet mother of god, what a relief. To begin with, i was FINALLY able to take a shower without wrapping my hand in a plastic bag and scrub the outside part of my hand that was covered in this yellowish second skin looking film of antiseptic. All of the sudden, both my hands had the same color again. Niiiiice.

Since then, let's be honest, the recovery has been going slowly but surely. I can use my hand almost normally, even though i'm still careful with it. There is a spot in the middle of the scar which still is sensitive and i don't have as much strenght in it as i used to. So i'm trying to use it as much as i can so as to rehabilitate it faster but i've just read online that a stitched up wound can take months to recover. Even the doctor said last week that my file for this particular accident will be open for 3 months.

I put lotion on it often so it smoothes the skin which is calloused around the wound. I mean even if it stays that way, it'll be in a part of the hand that is callous anyway so oh well. The only down side of this, apart from that sensitive area, is that i still don't know what the heck my middle finger is doing. Hopefully, nothing obscene! **laughs**

my bad ass looking scar \m/

Green Thumb!

I've always been pretty good with plants but lately, it's not been that good. Quite frankly, i can even say it's been quite a disaster. I've managed to lost quite a few cactus (seriously, how did that happen?), a few plants that i've bought got either too much water or not enough, either too much sun or not enough but bottom line is that they're all dead. And that's without mentioning the veggies i planted which were growing good and then from one day to another, just shriveled up and rot. Nor the countless seeds i planted that didn't even pretend to grow.

I know plants are not like pieces of furniture: they need time, attention and care. At least most of them. I'm only blaming myself, and maybe a serie of bad luck that i've been going through lately. I've been extremely busy at work, i haven't taken the time to take proper care of my beloved plants, i've been exhausted and recently, unable to use one of my hands, my left one obviously, so not a very good gardener all together.

This morning, since i'm still stuck at home for another week because of mentioned wounded hand, i decided to do some long needed dusting. And when i made it to the shelf where my plants are, i noticed that some of them needed watering. 

I've always had orchids because i think they're just beautiful plants but unfortunately, i've never been lucky with flowers, less of it with orchids and they've all died on me. Since we moved in where we're currently living, i got myself an orchid at the local supermarket for something like €5. A beautiful dark pink almost purple tiny orchid. I had it for several weeks when naturally, the flowers dried up and died. I then decided to cut the stem on which the flowers had grown and kept the plant hydrated. And it's been standing still for months. 

Up until this morning, when i noticed this:

My orchid has a new growing leaf, which gives me high hopes on it blossoming again sometime in the future. I can't believe i've actually managed to get an orchid growing again. Has my wheel of bad luck with plants finally turned? Am i getting my green thumb again?

In a few more months, we'll be living in my man's grandfather's house. There is a massive garden and 2 gigantic balconies. I'll finally get room for more plants and most important: the proper sun exposure for them. Can't wait!

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 ...

Encounter of the Third Kind

I honestly have no idea what the other 2 kinds of encounters might be but for me, today, it was one of the third kind. Why? Because it was extraordinary. At the root-sense of the word. Meaning, something out of the ordinary. 

(OK just checked, technically, an encounter of the third kind is when you see an UFO which is nothing of the sort).

As most of you know by now (and if you don't, you should read this blog more often! and be ashamed of yourself for not doing so earlier) I now live in the countryside. And even though i don't work with animals, needless to say i've come across cattle more than once. 

I'm not confortable with big animals. Not because i think they're scary or gross but because i've never had interracted with them because i know knew nobody who actually breed them. Up until now obviously.

One of my better half's karatéka is the son of a cow breeder, another one the son of horses and ponies breeder (yep, not comfy with horses either). My grand father in law used to breed swines, my father in law used to breed sheeps but they only have cats left now. And as cats are concerned, i'm pretty well served with my 3. So when i was told that a cow has a tongue that is raspy like one of a cat, i was in shock. I thought they had a smooth one like a dog. Same when i heard that cows are actually pretty affectionate animals. And i thought, damn, i need to go see (and maybe even pet one) from up close.

So i called the guy after my man had told him about my little query. And i met him and his cows today. 

When i parked by the field they were staying in, first thing that came to my mind was, damn, they are huge animals. It's very impressive. And i was quite far away from them still! We went in, but since it was in the field where a couple of born-yesterday calves were at, mommy cows were extremely alert and following our every move. So he took me to another field, to introduce me to Marguerite (this is such a stereotype name for a cow, i love it), a cow whom mother died calving and that he pretty much raised on his own, feeding her with a baby bottle.

Daniel and Marguerite

He kept her horns because other cows, as she was growing up, were mean to her because she acted different than they did. Animals are just like human beings, they're racist! They don't like Different. So now, she can actually defend her food when others are trying to steal it from her. 

It was amazing how he called her by her name and how she recognized it and came to us. We had brought some flour that she voraciously devoured. She even ate from my hands. I mean I HAND-FED A COW!!!! (no pic here, it was so over the top that i didn't think about asking him to take a picture)

Marguerite so very much enjoying her food!

I was a lot more nervous when he called the bull. We were in a field with about 15 cows with their calves and one bull. A one point two ton bull. It's bigger (and heavier) than my very own CAR! But i pet him. I PET A FREAKING BULL!!!

THAT bigger-than-everybody-else's bull

We then went to a third field with another baby-bottle fed cow named Peach (Pêche in French). And i couldn't help but ask for my picture taken with her. Otherwise nobody would trust me that i did go in a field full of cows and actually gotten close enough to pet them. 

Peach and I

 I couldn't pet a calf. They're fearful and always stand aback. But jeez aren't they curious. You can tell they're scared but their curiosity is still stronger than their fear and they want to get closer! It's funny. They're like a little kid hidding into mommy's skirt!!

I even got to drive that little tractor (it's not a tractor but i don't know the name of it, not even in French, let alone in English!) to bring a haybale to them. I was on my own (with the farmer's dog) in that little engine, in the middle of a dozen cows, bringing them that caramel flavored candy to them (seriously, this stuff smells like caramel, no wonder they like it!).

Farmers in France, even in the countryside, have a reputation of being assholes. And jerks. Well i have yet to meet one of these nasty specimen because all the ones that i've crossed path with have been nothing but awesome with me. Maybe it's because i'm new to this world, maybe it's because i'm a woman, maybe it's because i'm the wife and the daughter in law of a very well known family here, or maybe it's just because i'm excited about learning and discovering all these new things.

The way he talked about his cows was touching. He could pretty much tell which calf belonged to which cow, and he talked about Marguerite and Peach with some kind of pride but most of all, a tremendous amount of love and affection. This guy cares for his animals and it shows.

It was a fantastic experience for me. And you could tell he was only too happy to show me his "babies". And what is probably so natural for him was an extraordinary encounter for me. Kinda made my day :D

I Nap Everyday

So i've started a new job. I love it. But damn right it's tiring. 

The other day, 3pm, in the middle of a field, behind the wheel of a tractor and i was seriously dozing. I thought, crap, this isn't good. I mean, it's less dangerous than on a road or if i was driving a trailer truck but still, it's not good anyway.

When i mentioned it to my man, he told me, well, take a quick nap when you come back home on your lunch break. And i thought, pfff, what's the point, for a me, a nap is at least 1 hour and a half long so i won't have time for that. Morevoer, it makes me grumpy ! And he said, no, you need to take a power nap. 20-30 min max. 

I was hyper skeptical. How can i possibly fall asleep, rest and wake up and be on the go in 30 minutes? 

Well i did it. Went to my bedroom, took off my working clothes, set the alarm for 1:30pm and fell asleep in the blink of an eye and slept like a log. For 20 minutes. It changed my afternoon. My life. And my perception of naps.

A power nap is repairing. I start my afternoon shift all pumped up and reloaded for what awaits me. I always try to leave work on time (at noon) so i have time to eat without rushing and take a nap. 

I never thought i'd ever nap without feeling groggy and/or bitchy. I'd never thought i'd nap at all!! But it's something i enjoy every day. It's something i believe i actually NEED every day.

Who knew i'd become the napping type!

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 Got My Truck Driving Licence

I have no idea if that's the way you call it in English but i don't really care. I spent 2 weeks training like crazy to present my exam to get my driving licence to drive trucks and i got it.

I freaking got it at my first attempt.

When we first started the training, we were in the classroom for about 15 minutes when the instructor said, i'm presenting yourself for the theory in a week. OK. Wait. WHAT? In a WEEK? Like in 7 days? After only 5 days of training here with you? Are you out of your freaking mind?

Needless to say the tension got up one notch. At least for me. There were only 3 of us for that session at the beginning of August and the other 2 were 2 young guys who drove trucks before so i guess they weren't freaking out as much. But that was still a shit load of stuff to learn and know in a short amount of time.

And that's when you notice that we truly are all different people. The two guys maneuvered the truck like they were born driving it whereas i was excelling in all the writing tests and the learnt-by-heart texts we had to say during the exam. So they spent time in the classroom and i spent time on the practice track polishing my reverse (slalom) driving and parallel parking skills!

On the day of the exam, i was sick i could have puked. I didn't. We presented the exam in alphabetical order hence, me first. I also had the horror honor to pick the maneuver we were gonna have to do: right side parallel parking. FUCK.

It all went well until my first attempt at the maneuver. I exceeded the allowed time and i was only half way through. Took a deep breath, drove back to the departure point, put a smile on my face and tried again. All in one go, like a freaking PRO!

We spent the rest of the second week driving the truck in traffic and it went rather well. That's when you're behind the wheel of a 19 tons truck that you come to realize that car-drivers are assholes who believe they own the road. Being on the other side has transformed the way i drive my car now and i like to believe i'm not the potato head i used to be.

I presented the driving exam on Tuesday. I so very nearly avoided a crash with a dick in a delivery van who probably thought that staying behind a school truck for 30 seconds was already outrageous enough and cut me up without a care in the world. 

The Holy Grail came in the mail 2 days later ... 

I am officially a TRUCK DRIVER!

I Said No For the First Time

Today, i'm feeling so proud of myself because just a few minutes ago, i dared to say no to someone. It's not like I've never said no before but when it comes to customer service for example, i'm a wuss and i can't really say no. One of the many reasons i don't like to have vendors around when i shop (or stroll in a store). Well today, i stood up on my grounds and i said no. Who to? To a hairdresser. 

I need a haircut. To say urgently would be an understatement. I died my hair a dark shade of red a few days ago but the haircut i currently have looks like nothing. So i went to my favorite hair salon (it's my favorite because it's very affordable and you sit on a massaging seat while getting your hair shampooed! OMG just for the massaging chair it's worth the trip) in order to check if i could get a haircut today, like right now (cuz i generally don't make an appointment to have my hair cut, bad habit i got from Mexico, where you can show up and get attended!). Thing is, i have been twice to this salon. The first guy who cut my hair did an amazing job and i absolutely LOVED the result. So it was with high hopes i went again some time later but to be taken care of by another guy whom a) i didn't have a good vibe from him and b) who kinda messed up my cut. And trust me, with that amount of hair on my head, when there are different uneven layers of hair, it shows.

So when this second dude came to attend me when i was standing at the entrance of the salon, i thought, shit. The other guy was there, just finishing a cut. Dude told me he had room within an hour and then, i don't know where it came from but i asked him: who will that be with? And he answered myself. He also added: do you have a preference? And that's when i had this leap of courage and told him: I'd rather go with him (pointing at the guy who was attending his client). Dude left, looking slightly annoyed and Pascal (because i know his name now) broadly smiled at me and set up the appointment for later today.

I have never done something like this before. I generally don't say anything when i don't like the haircut or if my meat is too cooked at the restaurant. I don't know why. Maybe i don't want to appear as picky or bitchy but when i think about it, what is the point? What is the point of not telling when you're not happy with something you're actually paying for? You don't have to be mean or bitchy when you speak up your mind. And that's what i realized today. You can be firm but pleasant. 

Anyway, can't wait for my appointment now. Hopefully, i'll come back with something edgy. Maybe something like this ... Who knows!

My New Project

I always have so many projects going on in my life and in my head and i'm always extremely excited about them all. Tonight is no different and to say that i'm excited about this one would be an understatement.

A few weeks ago, or maybe it was a few months ago already, a friend of mine did an outstandingly awesome artwork for his parents-in-law and then another one for his wife and in all honesty, i was green with envy. And i kind of felt a pinch of jealousy as well, not having that kind of gift myself. Well that was until tonight. 

I was chatting with a friend of mine and we were talking plants, garden and my wish on growing heirloom vegetables instead of the traditional ones you get to find at your local supermarket or grocery store (for those of you who don't know what heirloom veggies are, they are what we call in French "forgotten vegetables", those veggies that are old as dirt but that nobody else but passionate gardeners grow in their garden). 

She said it'd be a great idea and deplored the fact that she can't grow any kind of plant, even the easiest to care for. And that's when i remembered 2 things: 

- i do have green thumbs and can grow any kind of seed (with the exception of flowers, i'll work on it, i promise, but for now, flowers are definitely not my thing)

- a friend of mine had the same problem with plants and i actually care for her plants every time i was visiting her.

And i thought ... why not doing this "i take care of your plants" thingy again. Problem is: my friend is living pretty much on the other side of the world. We're not on the same continent and there's the Atlantic Ocean in between us two! 

That's when "i live in the 21st century" actually is an awesome thing: i can video call with her, i can send her written tutorials and genius idea: i can make little videos and send them to her with some basic advises for whatever plant she's willing to grow.

She sounded excited about the idea - obviously i was even more excited than she could ever be!! - and she's going to the nursery on Monday. I've never wanted it to be Monday that early in the week-end! I don't even recall wanting a Monday to arrive earlier EVER! LOL.

Obviously, since i'm still living in that rabbit hole, i won't be able to make video tutorials just yet but i don't care, i have this awesome project to help my friend sort her problem with growing plants and that's so exciting. Projects are fun. And this one is like doing my own garden already - but long distance. I can't wait to see the results. I'm sure she'll do great!

We're starting off easy, with cactus and perennial plants. Then we'll move on. Maybe one day i'll even managed to help her grow flowers! Who knows!

I'm Gonna Be A Samourai

I have had that wish of practicing a Martial Arts since forever. And my man being a Karate, Thai Boxing, Full Contact and Karate Contact teacher (among other stuff i can't remember just now), a lot of people seemed to assume i would go that way too. Things is, Karate and all these mentioned arts are HIS domain, not mine. That's his life, his passion, his leisure, his friends, and definitely not mine. Moreover, i didn't want, on top of it all, to become his wife at the dojo. So i said sod it, i'm not doing this.

That's when i realized i never really got attracted to Karate and kicking with my feet and hands. The only combat sport i considered once was boxing because i had just seen "Million Dollar Baby" and i was dying to get Hillary Swank's back!!!

No, what I've always found appealing, were weapons and in particular SABERS. The idea of learning how to properly use a saber to slice people up was definitely a turn on. Moreover, in Japan, it's the noble art. The art of the saber. So yeah, i was going to do just that. 

So there i was, at my free try-out class of Kendo. And even though i don't actually slice people up (it's kinda hard with a bamboo saber!!!), i learn how to hold it, how to hit someone on the head (with the idea to cut him/her down to the eyes), how to cut people's wrist, how to stab someone in the throat, and more generally, how to slice someone vertically and horizontally. And in all honesty, it's freaking AWESOME.

There is something liberating in hitting someone with a saber. Especially since we have to shout at the time we actually do it. So you shout out your rage and physically hit someone on their armor like you're on for the kill. 

Even though the way of the saber is considered the noble art, it still is a martial art hence subject to rules and protocol. You learn respect towards the elders or the higher ranked, obviously big respect to the Senseï, you salute your opponent, you respect in religious silence the moment each person suits themselves up with the armor, you thank your teacher and your fellow companions and you show respect to the dojo your practice into, every time you enter or exit it. All of this ceremony has something sacred in it. It's a feeling i find hard to describe, yet a feeling i truly like.

We all have some rage and anger inside us. And being able to lash it out is soothing. I get out of the class drained, both physically and emotionally and it feels goooood. 

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