Grandes inquiétudes.

Anxiety. That’s what it’s all about. It has finally hit me, that feeling that washes over me and brings me to the brink of breakdown is due to my over-worrying nature. If I didn’t worry about things this year would be amazing (although, of course if I didn’t worry about things I wouldn’t be human). Despite being more prepared for lessons than ever, thank you to my bedridden Toussaint holiday, I headed off to school, for the first day back after Toussaint, worried about everything I could possibly worry about. Everything went fine. There was no need to worry, at all, so why do I do it so often? I’m not sure if I think so little of myself that I’m sure I’m going to screw up majorly. Surely I don’t have that little faith in myself!

I’ve got ulcers and bad skin as a result of the fact I am quite stressed and run down at the moment. However, in my breakdown curing skype call to my dad last night we talked about a lot of things to take my mind off the fact I was actually having a breakdown and one of those things was cooking. I’ve recently realised that cooking soothes me, I really enjoy it and also is the key to not only physical but mental health, I’ll be doing more and more of it. I’m going to teach myself to cook different meals in order to relieve my tensions.

45 days until I go home for Christmas and I am really looking forward to it, if only to see my parents again. I’ve got many things to do in this time to make it fly. Italian cuisine night tomorrow chez another assistant, my best friend is coming to visit me in 14 days, I need to visit La Cité to do Christmas shopping for my family, regular lesson plans, Christmas lesson plans (I must admit, I may be a little more excited than the children) and other mundane daily/weekly chores/living/rituals. Things like this make me realise that I can definitely do this, no matter what this experience throws at me I’m in it until the end. Definitely not getting off this ride until it is over.

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Une visite chez le médecin.

This past week I have been in agony. I’m pretty much incapable of walking anywhere as my right foot is pretty douloureux.

After trying to rest for most of the week, which happens to be the week of half-term – GREAT :/,  I decided to go to the doctors. Yesterday I rang a number which I presumed to be the doctors only to find out I’d made an appointment for health insurance cue “puis j’annuler la rendez-vous s’il vous plait, j’ai fait une erreur”. Okay. Appointment cancelled. So I rang the correct place and asked if I could have an appointment with an English speaking doctor. Sorted. 10h45, vendredi matin.

I turned up to the doctors and after checking in at reception I sat in the waiting room for what didn’t seem all that long. The doctor came out a few times calling for, what I  thought sounded like, “madame wyse” – she just wasn’t there. Fancy that! Making an appointment and not turning up without cancelling! Then a few minutes later the receptionist came over and asked what my surname was, I told her and then spelt it out for her too and she explained that she’d taken it down wrong and the “madame wyse” that the doctor was calling for was actually me. O dear. What an error. I could hear mutters of “elle est anglais” from across the waiting room. YES I MIGHT BE ANGLAIS BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOUR FRANÇAIS RAMBLINGS ABOUT FOREIGNERS.

Eventually I got seen by the doctor who was very nice and without even realising it I was describing my foot pain and explaining what I thought was the cause, all in French!!! I felt so proud of myself. I hadn’t prepared myself for this French speaking extravaganza – I simply imagined I’d stroll in and tell the doctor what was wrong with my foot in English and he would say “ee by gum that sounds reet bad, ‘ave some tablets” – but no. Fully French appointment; French explanation, French diagnosis, French prescription, French everything! I hobbled out of the doctors room feeling smug that the “fille anglais” just had a successful, fully French speaking doctors appointment. Paid at the receptions desk and then headed to the pharmacie.

Now I’m sat in bed, doing just as the doctor orderd. Resting my foot. “REPOSE” is what he said to me as I left his room, and that is what I shall do. I’m sad that I will be missing out on the Halloween weekend. I shan’t be going to Toulouse with people from my foyer like originally planned and I shan’t be going to the bar down the road for a Halloween knees up. I shall be sat in bed, with my foot on a pillow watching American and English films dubbed in French on my new little French television and making lesson plans.

Not the Toussaint that I imagined I’d be having but hey ho life goes on.

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Pourquoi nous sommes des salauds?

Today started off really productive. Despite being the first weekday of the Toussaint holidays and the fact I was out last night, I was up and out by 11am. Finished my essay, filled out my erasmus forms and sent them all off. I received a knock on the door at about 2pm inviting me to Place Carnot for a coffee with some others and whilst we were sat a man strolled over and asked “Do you speak English?” We replied “yes” waiting for him to perhaps ask us a question, instead he said “You are bastards!” and strolled off again glaring at us over his shoulder.  If anyone has any ideas on why we may be bastards for being English in France then feel free to let me know!

This week I’m feeling a little bit more at home in my French surroundings. I’m feeling lucky to be able to stroll down to the bakery to get a fresh baguette or to nip into Marché plus for a bottle of €2 wine and some yummy cheese. It leads me to believe that it is when I’m put into situations where I feel under pressure or judged that I feel weak and that I need to leave the country asap.

On another note we get paid sometime soon. It may well be the most financially stable I’ve been in a long time. No overdraft in my French or English account, minimal money needed to pay rent, thanks to the amazing CAF. I’m looking forward to seeing the nice numbers on my online banking!

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