Inconclusions on the Durity of Life

September 15, 2008
Lille, France

Dear Blog,

The other night, during a particularly lucid and compelling dream, I spit into my bed. Be convinced, my friends, that I was not simply drooling. No, this was an active process: collecting and forming a bolus of saliva, then mightily discharging it from my mouth and into the bed sheets. You should know that all the labial and lingular activity did indeed attract the attention of my consciousness, who rushed to the scene just in time to yell "What do you think you're...!" But it was too late. I was awake and cleaning up my unconsciousness' mess. Again. I swear. Its like caring for a retarded baby and a choleric old man at the same time.

Life is hard.

And now a clarifying point. The bed in which my expectorate shall henceforth repose is not actually my bed. No, I would never own such a decadent thing. Charlotte used to sleep there when she lived with her mother, Laurence. She moved out and I moved in. Why? Presumably as a live in English tutor for Laurence, though thats not what she's telling her friends. No, she tells them I'm the "Mommy-Sitter." Someone she got to play games with and share meals with now that most of her kids are out of the house. Whatever. I'm still going to list this as "English Tutor" on my resume. I think that will keep more eyebrows in their proper, lowered positions and require less explanation.

But the mommy-sitting is going well. My chambers are adequate, the standard two-story bedroom with private bath and balcony. The house keeper fixes breakfast on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and turns the room once a week. As for the hours I keep "on the job," they are irregular, and the work varies. Last week we went jogging. Tomorrow she wants to go to a water polo match, and we have plans to read a comic book together.

Life ain't so hard.

Much of my time is free, spent in a manner of my choosing. Yesterday I attempted to find a nearby library. I gave up after five hours when the closest thing to a book lender I had found was a Turkish sandwich shop.

And on the topic of sandwiches, the scale in the bathroom tells me I've gained 6 pounds in the week I've been here. Egregious slander and malicious falsehood! I plan to work the thing over, to attain, by its own admission, that it is a liar and a thief and wants to see me ruined.

Life is hard.

Blog,

Josh