Super Late

Wow. I never thought this would be me, but here we are.

I'm well into my 3rd month in France now. My French is improving, and things have gotten busier.

I'm taking a Literature class here, and it's lovely. It's a really great way to expand my vocabulary and learn more about French and Francophone culture. There is a melancholically beautiful excerpt that I will leave you with from French author Phillipe Delerm from a piece entitled "Sunday Evenings":

And that's when it comes, the little melancholy. Little by little, the television becomes insufferable, and you turn it off. You find yourself elsewhere, perhaps back to your childhood, with vague remembrances of uncounted walks upon a background of scholastic worries and invented loves. You feel pierced through. It's as strong as a summer rain, that small soul wandering that invites itself, that small mix of good and bad that comes back, familiar—that's Sunday evening. All Sunday evenings are there, within that false bubble where nothing stops. Within the bathwater the pictures are revealed.

(translated, a little stiltedly, I must admit, by yours truly)