I woke up before my alarm today. I thought it was the middle of the night because it was pitch black outside. I thought it was weird that I'd be so wide awake in the middle of the night, so I looked at my phone. It was 7:45. I rolled over, and managed to look at my phone at exactly 8am. I managed to get up to get my laptop. It was going to be an even longer day of studying if I didn't get myself moving. I checked facebook, as I do every morning, to seven messages and several notices. By the time I responded to all of my messages it was 8:19. I got up, made my coffee, made half a peanut butter and honey sandwich (which had so much honey that I thought pooh bear would think it was a little excessive), and got to work.
First order of the day was to study for French. I can't believe that my French class has gone from a source of extreme concern and worry to being fairly unconcerning (it would be a stretch to say worry free, but it hasn't made my cry in awhile). I studied for French for an hour, and then turned my attention to studying for pop. My pop class is really concerning me. There's so much uncertainty about what's going to happen that it's freaking me out. How can I be sure that a song is rock versus pop, and what decade it's from, if I've never heard it before! How can I tell if something is protest music if I can't understand the lyrics?! Can you feel the anxiety? I can.
Mindy suggested that we make lists of the characteristics of each genre. I went through and divded the songs by genre, figured out the name/artist/date for all of the songs, wrote down the major qualities of each genre, and wrote out all of my notes for each song. A rough estimate puts this activity at about four hours, but it could be more. I started to get worried that I'd forget a song's information (even though I don't have to know the name, artist, or specific date for each song), so I wrote out all of them twice. Somehow after all of this studying I was even more freaked out than when I began. There's so much to know, and so many small details. Can I hear if that's a guitar?!
As a break from studying for pop, I choice to do a test run of question two for my histories midterm. I set my timer for 45 minutes (the allotted time for each essay), and started to write. My ideas were flowing out perfectly well. I knew all of the information, but didn't use small bits of it because I knew that I'd be pushing the time limits. After writing out my second section, I looked at the clock. I only had 14 minutes left and I still had to write my third section and a conclusion paragraph! I changed the clock from a timer to a stopwatch and started to write again. I felt rushed so I left out most of my third section (all of the good details that turn my essay from "okay she was paying attention" to "holy cow") and rushed a final paragraph. I looked at the clock and it said 13 minutes and a few seconds. Phew. Now I know that have to write like the wind on the midterm.
After I studied for pop some more, I took a break for lunch. I was feeling kinda hungry so I heated up one of my Picard meals. The picture on the package looked like some type of crusted fish (I think it said halibut) with a side of rice with mixed vegetables. That was not it at all. The fish was sitting under a thick layer of redish sauce that tasted like a mouth full of lemons and something else that I can't explain, but wasn't very pleasant. I stuffed it down and watched my Judge Judy. I've heard that some of you are sick of me writing about my new love affair with Judge Judy. You will never understand.
I went back to work and struggled to finish my last bit of studying for pop. My head suddenly hurt and I was too stuffed. I kept fidgeting every other second. I finally figured out that "Je t'aime, moi non plus" is considered solidly pop (and has electronic sounds and a keyboard along with a guitar and strings) and was written in 1969. You're welcome. After the last bit of studying I collapsed in bed. It was already past three and I had done nothing memorable with my day. I knew that I needed to get a move on.
I had added Sainte-Chapelle to my list of things to do after I heard about it in my histories class. I googled it and found out that it was near Notre Dame. I checked the weather, made sure that it wouldn't rain while I was out, and dragged myself out of the house. I was delighted to find out that the route would take me right along where I was to get to Shakespeare and Company last weekend. I could finally take the pictures that I had promised you.
The sky looked gray, but I was bundled up. The directions said that a normal person walking at normal speed would only take 33 minutes to get to Sainte-Chapelle. I'm not a normal person who walks at a normal speed, and I kept stopping to take pictures. At one point a man peered ove the top of a door right at me and I thought that he would come outside. I'm not sure if he was looking at me, but he creeped me out enough that I quickened my pace and kept looking behind me. I took pictures of La Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal, and the cool statue in front of it. The next part of the route took me along the Seine. It was so beautiful with the orange tree leaves against the brown buildings and the gray sky. The Seine itself, of course, looked like dirty dish water and death.
l'arsenal
near the front door of l'arsenal
The statue in front of l'arsenal
Paris
I kept walking and walking and couldn't seem to reach the quai that I was looking for. The problem with the old part of town is that half of the areas don't have street signs. I finally figured that I'd turn down a quai and then find my way from there. It just so happens that I turned down the right quai and saw a sign pointing to Sainte-Chapelle. On my way I passed an adorable community of flower markets. You know I would live and die for flowers, and it took everything I had not to stop and gaze at all of the pretty colors.
The flower market
I got to the buiding that had a sign saying "Sainte-Chapelle" pointing right towards it. There was a small entrance with a sign that said something about a Saint Louis exhibition. I walked down the street a bit, and the next building said something about palais or justice or something that did not say chapelle. I figured that the small door was the right one. I looked in my purse to see that, en fait, I had my student card. Thank Dieu! I went inside and got my free ticket. The exhibition was dedicated to all things religious monarchy and was set in what looked like an emptied out church. There were beautiful seaside paintings of places I'm assuming that Louis went. There were statues from churches, stained glass, illuminated manuscripts, paintings, even a shirt that Louis had worn. I loved seeing the decree for Quinze Vingts the best because I live near the hospital. It was great seeing so much amazing religious art in the space of a gothic cathedral.
A golden church in the exhibition
The only problem was that this was not the Sainte-Chapell that I saw on the wikipedia page. Where was all of the blue and gold?! I went outside and walked around the building in an attempt to find the real entrance to the church. I couldn't find it so I gave up and started back home. On my way I passed a news team doing a story in front of the bridge near Sainte-Chapelle (or wherever I was). Possibly, somewhere, I'm on French tv. The second I got to the other side of the street, I started to feel drops. Oh no. This was happening. I was far from home and it was about to pour on me. The worst part was that it was pretty hot, and slightly uncomfortable to be wearing a wool coat. I put up on hood anyway and scurried home. It didn't pour, but it was enough to leave my jacket speckled.
I came home and got distracted on facebook and eating nutella instead of writing my second histories essay. It was already six o'clock, and I had to get started before the nighttime sleepies set in. I logged off, but not before getting a depressing message from Quentin. He's broke so he can't eat at school for two weeks, his girlfriend is going to break up with him, he's going to have to leave school if he doesn't find a job, he hasn't seen his sister in four months because his dad is mad at him. Holy cow. Then he told me that the friends he was supposed to see tonight cancelled on him. Mon pauvre.
I left facebook and started to write my second essay for histories. I was writing along fine, but the time was always in the back of my mind. I finished up my last thoughts, without leaving out the part about Henri IV's hospitals, and looked at the clock. Three minutes to spare. That's practically a lifetime! By this time it was after seven. I felt somehow guilty for finishing my work so early AND having also gone out for two hours. Does anyone else think that's nuts? Someone tell me to chill out and then quiz me on the elements of new wave (synthesizers, drum machines, keyboards, digital sampling, 1980s, punk and pop influence).
I got in bed for some more of you know who before taking my shower. I think I'm going to read my book for a bit before going to bed.
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