two days before Christmas in my village in the South of France. Yes, it is charming. But when you arrive from London and you get a flu right away, plus the problems of my parents, it is a bit too much.
Or, maybe it happened with a different order. First I got stressed, and then I got the flu. And instead of doing all these necessary but also pleasurable things I was meant to, I am at home with the cat, watching the Hobbit 1, 2 and 3.
In any case, instead of moaning or becoming a female Ebenezer Scrooge from the homonymous story, I write about my feelings.
After working a lot, stressing and doubting my marvellousness at my new job, I thought that I could do some fun things before starting to work on my student’s art portfolios.
And finally, yes, finally, I realise that after Hobbit 1, 2 and 3, and the necessary things like bills and the like, there will be no time left.
But maybe I just need to reevaluate pleasure. Why is it pleasurable only to live on a bike expedition and discover the hidden paths of the South of France as my neighbour does?
Is Hobbit not a work of art after all?
And my parents, and the cat less worthy company?
Some Christmas music, and I might prepare myself a Grog instead of drinking this horrid cough syrup.
After all, when is the best time to Dream than taking advantage of this flu time?