It's been exactly 1 year, five months, six hours, thirty-two minutes and two seconds since I stepped off the train in June of 2010 to start my new life in Lyon.
Now it will be 1 month and 2 weeks until I hop on a different train and start a new life in Paris. I never thought I would leave Lyon, nonetheless live in Paris, but when opportunity knocks on your door you answer.
About 4 weeks ago or so, Bri decided to throw in his bid to become the assistant to a senator in Paris. We knew it was a long shot, the chances that he would get it is slim (no experience as an assistant, a young male, in a second Masters, working at the law library). The interview was last week, I know because it was me rolling out of bed at 6am to make him some coffee to be able to trudge to the train and get to the senate.
I also know it was a week because it was a week of Bri saying, "I'm not gonna get it, I'm no good, I'll never be in the senate, it's the end.". The complaints only got stronger on Tuesday when he was supposed to have a call, and nada, Wednesday, same. But, today, one week and 3 days from the interview, Bri received a phone call from the Senator herself offering the position.
I'm very focused on time now more than ever, every minute that passes is going to be a minute that leads to the end of my stay in Lyon. I know most would drool for the chance to live in Paris, but I have grown to love Lyon as a second home and I can only feel more waves of culture shock as we prepare to head 5 hours north into the most popular tourist spot in the world.
It's been ten minutes I've been writing, and I can only ask myself banal questions:
How the hell are we going to get my brand new closet and oven to Paris?
Where are we going to live?
How long will it take to find an apartment?
Where will I find a new butcher who knows my order and my name?
I feel like Julia Child when Paul was moved around Europe, thinking to myself well there are still trains!
I'm just going to be another American in Paris.
Oh well at least it will make good blogging fodder, what's more interesting than hauling a 65m2 apartment into a closet in Paris?
a+ with a sad face