Thursday, June 24, 2010

Deja Vu?

Last night I find myself chatting with Sathish at Microsoft. Very much like Santosh who graced my very first entry here, Sathish is patient. He does not ask why I was stupid enough to delete things that I know nothing about? Instead, he guides me step by step to the point where we determine that I have corrupted my OS(that's operating system for you innocents). It is like the kiss of death. I stumble into bed in despair way past 1 am, and try to forget this cauchemar (I think this is nightmare, judging from the way my family members use this word).

In the morning, I roll out of bed and enjoy the local bakery's pain au raisin with strong coffee, and go check out our immense windows that were scrubbed yesterday. I spend the morning priming, and regret having had the audacity to take on this project.

Lunch is actually quite good, as I prepare a leftover galore menu. Everyone is in good humor after laft night's dinner of sausage and lentil beans offered by other family members.

The kids are packed off to the beach (I hear that it is between Antibes and Cannes), and I get to painting, and attempting CPR on my PC at the same time. My husband, out of the blue, asks if I want to go to the vet NOW... I do, but I have not attired myself in presentable clothes, nor have I applied any signs of civilization to my body. Oh, who cares??! So, we go to the vet, who is a charming lady with 2 kids manning the reception area. We find that Charlie weighs 32 kgs, and has otitis. We also learn that there is a mosquito in the Mediterranean that causes bad diseases to dogs. While the vet is gone to attend to something, my husband hops on the scale and declares that the weight is off by at least 7 kgs. Years of marriage have taught me not to be surprised with such behavior, and I have a hard time suppressing my desire to hop on myself.

Equipped with otitis-begone and mosquito-begone collar, we head to the eagle nest village of Biot to post some letters. The post office is having a greve nationale, which I learn, is a strike. So, we sit at the square with a glass of beer and wine, and water for the dog, for a little downtime. I look at my hands stained with white mat paint (it should have been glossy), wearing essentially PJs, and ponder about quality of life in the slow lane. Here I am, covered with Charlie drool and fur, paint (deeply imbedded in the cracks of my skin), watching moms with babies chat at the fountain, thinking about dinner. Perhaps, this is life in its essence - life, children, food...

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