L'Arriviste

It feels a whole lot like just another visit.

I think that part of it is that Nick loathes my ability to see nothing wrong with living out of a suitcase for a week (or five). So, a while back, he proudly showed me the drawers that he had cleared out for me, and then proceeded to fume when I chose not to use them for the three days that I was there. Three days!

Anyway.

When I arrived for my last visit, he took matters into his own hands. I collapsed into bed with my backward jet-lag (I can't help that it makes no sense; if I jolt awake at 4am it is not just to be stubborn), and he went straight for my suitcases. And while I sleepily shared travel anecdotes, he unpacked every last item I had brought. That is love.

Fortunately for me, he established this pattern just in time: on that trip I had brought tons of extra things to leave behind, and this time I have certainly brought more. Since organization is not my strong suit (giving up and living with the mess is, in case you were curious about my compensatory strengths), his initiative prevented endless bickering and sulking.

It has also made it hard for me to recognize that this trip is not like the others: not only do I technically have a return ticket (during which return I need to, you know, get a visa), but the sight of my clothing folded neatly in his (our?) dresser is nothing new.

One thing that is, though, is that, for the first time, I am writing this on my own laptop from Paris. And I suspect that that has something to do with all of Blogger appearing in French, at least until I finally found the manual opt-out page.

That is a thing I noticed yesterday, though: everything being in French doesn't bother me nearly as much as I worried that it would. I switched into French just before landing in Zurich, in fact (if you haven't seen the Alps, go see them now), which made navigating the airport and my connecting flight a little odd.

I sneezed as the second plane was taking off. "Gesundheit," muttered the girl next to me--due to our unfortunate language barrier, she already suspected me of making a play for her sketchy boyfriend. "Merci," I chirped.

Why?

And it's probably entirely to do with my safety net--every evening Nick will come home, and I will get to speak English, so during the day I get to scoff at others who do so out in public.

Mostly.

I stopped in to buy flowers last night (Nick and I negotiated for fresh flowers every two weeks unless he's not paying attention, in which case I can probably sneak in some more), and--okay, well, first of all, the set-up of the shop made it really hard to hear the guy. And I had just spent the whole afternoon wandering around and speaking French (I fell in love with this:

but Nick spotted the price tag and told me that I need to learn the French word for "pound").

Anyway. Florist Guy comes up to me and obviously asks if he can help me, except that it didn't sound anything like the "Can I help you?" that I have become accustomed to. I tried to say, "Pardon?" but my throat was dry, and it came out far too softly. Then I thought that maybe he had heard it anyway, so I didn't say anything else, and the two of us just stood there looking at each other for a few painfully awkward second-years.

"I'm sorry; I hadn't heard you," I croaked out eventually.

"Just looking?" he guessed, in English, and I was so frustrated that I didn't think to ask him how to say that in French, because it would be really useful. Damnit.

The whole rest of the purchase limped along like that, but we now have a lovely bouquet on the table, where we ate our first real dinner here together last night (I made risotto, risking life and eyebrow on our treacherous stove).

I think that it will take more little things: when mail starts arriving in my name (I currently suspect the gardienne of squirreling it away somewhere, although she was very nice when Nick introduced us), when we host Blake and then Mary, when I have my own bank card, when my bizarre jet-lag eases up and I can sleep through a night. Or maybe I won't feel entirely at home until the visa issue is put to rest.

I do know that I'm glad to be here, and that's a start.