My alarm goes off. I groan. Check my phone. My room is dark. The light hurts my eyes.

Sleep more? my mind says. No. Class. Have to go to class. 

I get up. The floor creaks beneath me.

Bathroom. Contacts. Clothes. Hair and Makeup.

I resemble a human again.

To the kitchen. Creak, groan, creak go the floors.

I press the button on the electric kettle. Grab a mug. Spoon some brown flakes into a mug. Drop in 4 sugar rounds.

I look at the kettle. I look at my cup.

Drop in another sugar round. Pour the boiling water into the mug.

Milk. Stir. Sip.

It’s still bitter.

First coherent thought of the day: I hate instant coffee. 

But it does its job.

I eat my breakfast in silence, preferring yogurt and cereal to a French baguette and jam. I check the news on my phone and finish my bastard coffee. I put the dishes away and replace everything in the cupboard. The floor creaks again as I return to my room to grab my bag, then I hesitate and grab a scarf, wrapping it around my neck and tucking it into my coat. I plug in my headphones as I walk out the door and hit shuffle on my phone…

Feeling my way through the darkness; Guided by a beating heart

I smile at the irony as the chilly air from outside blasts me as I exit into the courtyard.

I can’t tell where the journey will end; But I know where to start

I make my way to the street and then head towards the metro.

They tell me I’m too young to understand; They say I’m caught up in a dream

I stuff my hands into my coat as I walk quickly, nodding to the mother who passes by me.

Well life will pass me by if I don’t open up my eyes

I glance up: the Arc de Triomphe towers over me and grows closer with each step I take.

Well that’s fine by me. 

I smile slightly, forgetting the requisite resting bitch face for Parisian commuters.

A couple blocks later I walk down the stairs leading to the metro, swipe my pass over the turnstile and then board the train.

Then I ride the line to the end… So wake me up when it’s all over 

 

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What did you guys think about this post? Definitely different from my normal style, but I wanted to try something a little different.

Here are the *cultural* facts from this post:

1. French breakfasts are pretty small. Apparently, my yogurt breakfast is unusual as my host mom typically eats bread, butter, and jam. Nothing, nothing is better than a warm, buttery croissant for breakfast, but we can’t all live at boulangeries!

2. The Parisian Commuter resting bitch face is a thing. You don’t smile on the Metro. What is a resting bitch face you ask? According to Urban Dictionary, a person with a resting bitch face is “usually a girl, who naturally looks mean when her face is expressionless, without meaning to”

3. When it’s cold, everyone is wearing a scarf. The French would reach for a scarf first over a jacket.

Also, this next week I’m going to be travelling! So make sure to stay tuned if you want updates on my trip to Athens, Rome, Florence, and Venice 🙂

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