And the countdown begins. As of today, exactly two months sit between me and America. There are so many conflicting emotions bouncing around right now that I’m trying my hardest to put the looming end of my junior year out of my head.
It’s crazy that it’s been seven months. There are days where I forget I’m in France. Like a friend of mine said earlier this week, I’ve long since stopped comparing, rather I’ve let the French invade my soul. Thus, seeing things that are decidedly French, like teenagers smoking on church steps, someone scooter-ing to school or my host mom stocking up on baguettes for the next day have become my new normal.
I’ve also grown accustomed to the fact that in Rennes, I can leave my house with the sun shining and when I leave school, it could be hailing. I kid you not. After coaxing the flowers into blooming and teasing everyone with promises of sun and weather closer to 18 degrees Celsius, it looks like my darling city has remembered itself and to keep from getting too carried away, unleashed some flat out gross weather this week. Guess who threw her umbrella back in her bag? Two days without it must have been a new record.
We did have one glorious day of sunshine (aka when I snapped the only pictures I took all week). To celebrate, a couple of friends and I grabbed ice cream because why not? We blissfully ignored the fact that warm temperatures appear to be on strike in protest of the rise of the Front National after the first round of local elections this past Saturday, and shivered contentedly. Like everyone’s been singing lately, I keep trying to convince myself “the cold never bothered me anyway.”