FIELD NOTE 3.21 - My handicap.

Apparently, according to my French culture prof, the inability to be able to write an entire sentence in French without committing an error in orthography is considered a true handicap.
If that is indeed true, then I am certainly handicapped.
What's more than that, I still have problems with the orthography of my own language - words like "banana," "receive," and "apartment" still make me pause. But I've never really considered that a handicap so much as my tendency to type faster than I can think and my penchant for adding extra letters.
Come to think of it, I feel that how I am perceived in classes here is completely different than how I am seen at VCU. There I am always seen as a "smart" student, a "good" student. Secretly I have always hated these titles, feeling as if I somehow never quite measured up to them. But here I am not smart, I am not good - I am not even average.
No, I am just seen as a foreign student and given no labels beyond that. Truth be told, it's perhaps the most enjoyable thing about coming here. Even if at the end of this I leave Nantes knowing little more than what I came knowing, I will have lived for a brief time without the constant presence of these American labels hanging over my head. And maybe, with just a little luck, I won't find myself with those labels after my return to Richmond.

FIELD NOTE 3.20 - The secret to a good presentation.

I'm just going to say it: I have absolutely no clue what's going on in my French culture class. I know I say that about all my classes, but in no class is this more true than in culture where in the span of a single conversation we are given information about poetic forms and how the Germanic invasions helped to shape the French language. It's enough to make anyone confused and, if looks are anything to go by, being lost as I am, I am not in the minority in that class.
To make matters worse we each have to make a presentation in front of the class on a topic related to French culture that's given to us a week before. This wouldn't be a bad thing were it not for three things: 1) I absolutely hate speaking before a class, 2) oral French is the area I am the weakest in and 3) the requirements that accompany these presentations are equally confusing as the class itself.
Last week's presentation topic: francophone authors.
Having taken an entire course on francophone women writers my second semester at VCU, I decided that it was as good a time as any to get my presentation over with.
That was last Monday.
The time between then and now has mainly been spent either actively avoiding preparing the presentation or completely dreading it. But this morning as I was reading the information one last time I suddenly stopped caring about whether or not the presentation was horrible - actually my thoughts were a little more explicit than that, but in the interest of time and language I prefer the generic.
I raised my hand first when it was time to present and walked to the front of the class. Ten minutes later I sat back down. And I remember little about what happened between those two points. I know the presentation wasn't perfect or probably even good. I remember hearing mistakes come out of my mouth even as I was speaking, but the prof didn't correct anything more than a few lapses in diction.
And now the presentation is over. I don't feel like a weight has been lifted or that I've suddenly overcome some insurmountable obstacle. No, what I feel is far simpler than all that. What I feel right now is the quiet contentment of having made it through the day and being able to once again prepare myself to start all over again tomorrow.

FIELD NOTE 3.19 - Truths.

This kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it.

FIELD NOTE 3.18 - Moths.

Since my first week here at Fresche Blanc I have sometimes noticed little light brown moths flying around my room or hiding on the back of my shower curtain.
They don't annoy me. Normally I just cup my hands around them and take them over to the window and set them outside.
I'm afraid I've always been this way. I don't get creeped out finding moths flying around the hallway of my house, ladybugs climbing all over the kitchen counters, or spiders building webs in the corners of my bathroom. I let them stay or else take them outside in an overturned glass with a piece of paper under it.
If I looked deeper I might want to say that I actually kind of like finding animals inside my house or that I find their presence a comfort. I might say a lot of things if I looked deep enough. But the truth is I don't want to look deep enough - I'm at the point where all I want to do is sleep.
The moths are here and I do not kill them. That is enough for now.

FIELD NOTE 3.17 - Don't ask, don't tell.

1h32. Tram ligne 1 avant l'arrêt de Bouffay.

The tram was surprisingly packed given the time and the fact that the past few weeks the early morning trams have been somewhat less so. But my friends and I have mostly been sticking to the line 2 route that passes right by our dorm. This was line 1.
At the tram stop in front of the Château des Ducs de Bretagne a man stepped aboard the tram talking loudly and immediately gained the attention of nearly every passenger and all the TAN agent security guards, one of whom actually followed the man as he made his way from the back of the tram to the place just in front of where Darryl, Carla, and I were conveniently located.
And just like that the man lost his footing and was sent falling backwards, directly onto my lap. After realizing he had fallen - something that took a few more seconds longer than was comfortable to occur - the man managed to pull himself back into a standing position with the aid of a hand rail while Darryl and the female TAN agent asked me if I was alright. I nodded and tried to appear as if nothing had happened.
The man turned around and looked at me, his eyes unfocused, and told me that if I didn't ask him what happened, he wouldn't tell anybody. Thank goodness for small comforts, I thought and began counting down the seconds to Commerce.

FIELD NOTE 3.16 - Crêpes and conversation.

Last night at Fées brought about an invitation to an impromptu pancake party at Ge and Ben's apartment tonight and at 20h00 tonight Darryl and I arrived, on time and with bottles of orange juice and Riesling in our bags.

Since we are in France, the "pancake party" ended up being a crêpe party and we were joined by a one of Ge's classmates from Spain, Carla. Wine began to be mixed with cassis syrup, beers were opened, and two glasses later I found myself speaking French - and not just French, but actually speaking not-that-horrible French and at a kind of quick rate. I mean, it wasn't the best and any respectable French professor would still probably cringe hearing it, but at least I was speaking it. And more than that, I was actually comfortable.
In the apartment there was no one to overhear my mistakes or corrections and there were no judgments - only wine, crêpes, and conversation.

FIELD NOTE 3.15 - Extrait du jour.

Je ne m'étais pas encore fait d'amis à cette école où, de toute façon, je me sentais un élément extérieur, un corps étranger qui n'as pas sa place, et je passais mes heures de lunch seul, debout devant une fenêtre, à grignoter mon sandwich au jambon, au poulet ou, le vendredi, aux olives farcies en morceaux et au Cheez Whiz, délice des délices qui venait de faire son apparition dans ma vie et qui me fait encore saliver aujourd'hui quand j'y pense. Je ne sirtais pas de l'école parce qu'il faisait trop froit - en fait, je n'ai pas mis une seule fois le pied dans la cour d'école pendant mes tois ans à l'institut, même quand le temps était clément ! -, je lisais des romans, je faisais mes devoirs, je bayais aux corneilles... Cette heure et demie de liberté me paraissait presque plus longue que les cours pourtant interminables qui l'encadraient.

We are growing closer, this narrator and I. I, too, feel as if I am a stranger in this place, a foreign body whose place is not entirely fixed yet. I begin to feel as if I am living between countries, at home in both but belonging to none. I could just as easily forge a home here in France or I could return to Virginia and carve out a life there.
I always forget that I don't have to decide which I will choose today, but it does lie in the imminent future. I do not look forward to that day. But for the moment je baie aux corneilles - daydreaming of all the possibilities. And even if all of these possiblities never come to pass, just the knowledge that they exist is awe-inspiring all on its own.