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Because I usually am in Vino ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** In 2009, I gave up my studies as a medievalist and musician, left my home, my family, my life and moved to Provence in southern France for a guy. In 2012, I moved away from him to study wine. Today, I'm a vagabond sommelier working in Paris at one of the oldest and most famous restaurants in the world, struggling to find some purpose to what I deem the rest of my life. I'm still married and after 8 10 years, I'm still trying to fit-in with French life and culture and to understand why the French are the way they are. Because they're weird in a different way that I think Americans are weird. Perhaps it's me who's weird. |
| NaNoWriMo has begun, and so have I. 1089 words this morning. I am writing a semi-autobiographical story and I hope it will help me heal. I'm not the only one to use the end of a relationship as inspiration. Adele, Beyoncé, Janet Lévy have all done it. Though I guess my story is a bit different because no, it isn't the end of my marriage. For the past few years, I have been in an open marriage with my husband. I won't go into particulars as they are private. Last year I was in a secondary with a relationship with one of my coworkers. The day of our anniversary he kicked me out of his bed and his life and left me for another woman. Yes, it was a secondary relationship and I wouldn't have left my husband for him, but we cared about each other. I tentatively say that we loved each other. And the way he ended our relationship was so lacking in respect and compassion. He was downright cruel. And I have been a wreck because of it. I spoke to him last night for the last time to clear the air. It went about how I thought it would go, but it's also given me more conviction to write this story. To use it as a way to move on and let him go. As France is in confinement again and I will have no contact, no way of seeing him, I hope this month - and probably longer - will help me clear a path to healing. By the way, my husband has been wonderful about letting me cope with this breakup. I couldn't ask for a better partner. Which just shows me who the better man really is. I would like to keep a daily log alongside the writing of the story. I don't know what it will entail or what will be discussed as most of the details of my healing process and our relationship go in my private paper journal. So maybe I will just write it there. The novel will also remain private for a time especially as I am not using W.com to store the draft. |
| I am back. I literally came back only for NaNo and to continue emptying my portfolio. So there's that. If anyone cares. Also France went into lockdown last night for a month. Also my life has been a shit show since September. Which is why I'm doing NaNo. To heal. |
| This is a rant about my job. I don't expect anyone to read or comment on it. I just needed somewhere to rant. I can't with my job anymore. On one had I work with a bunch of egoists who make decisions without thinking about the work that will go into accomplishing their decisions, on the other hand I work with a bunch of people who want glory without taking any responsibility. And no one thinks about the impact their current actions will have on the future. We are getting ready to reopen in two weeks and Julien has decided he is resigning as chef sommelier because he can't take it anymore. I get it. But it puts me in a precarious position because I know what is going to happen. I will be used and exploited to do all the work and have all the responsibility that Julien had while they find someone to replace him. When that someone comes in not a word of thanks or recognition will be given and I'll be pushed to the side, if not pushed out entirely. So that's stress for the future. In the meantime, I'm being asked to plan for the reopening of the restaurant without being allowed to go into work, or work from home, or well... do anything. I just plan in my head and hope it all works out when I get there on the 2nd. But I can't actually plan, because I have to follow the protocol that other people are putting in place. So basically, I am not planning or working but I have to have everything in place and ready to go by snapping my fingers on the 2nd. It's sooooo frustrating and adds a ridiculous amount of stress that shouldn't be there and isn't necessary. I feel like I work with a bunch of mentally challenged people. Honestly. I don't want to be offensive or degrade the mentally challenged but jesus fucking christ I can't be the only intelligent person who can absorb many different timelines and situations and tasks as once in the room. I just can't. It's impossible. I guess none of this should surprise me. It was like this before the lockdown. And if anything their panic and inability to handle this situation just shows me how inept and unprepared they are. But not in a bad way. I often think that I'm unqualified for my position and the positions I've held in the past. But if they can rise to high-level management and be incapable of well- anything - then clearly, I'm not doing so bad. It's frustrating. It adds unnecessary stress. It makes me rage. It makes me anxious because I know and can see all of the problems that are going to arise on the 2nd. And there is nothing I can do. And it's all totally normal. So what am I to do? I have to change my mentality. Let them sabotage themselves. And the wine cellar if they so desire. And just take a deep breath and rest secure in the knowledge that I am WAY more intelligent and thoughtful than they are. I can work quietly in the background, get yelled at for their complications, and just let it roll off my back because in the end, it's not me who made a mistake and who's totally unsuited to their position. So I'm going to do just that. Take a deep breath and take it one stupid decision at a time. And learn to assert myself in a calm and positive manner in such a way that strokes their ego while getting what I want. Some people are good at this. I should find them and learn from them. |
| I never came forward about the abuse and above all the sexual assault I suffered at Rabanel's. Even though everyone there knew something was up, knew there was something seriously wrong with the way the maître d'hôtel treated me, no one did anything and I was too weak, felt too powerless to stop it. And now I see that same ugly, alcoholic face being touted as the head sommelier of a world-renowned restaurant. Giving interviews, getting recognition and moving onward and upward while every day I have to face down the marks of trauma his abuse left on me. Some days I can forget about it. Some days I can put it aside and move past. But some days I can't. And picking up a copy of a hospitality magazine and seeing his face on the table of contents this afternoon was just traumatizing beyond words. He doesn't deserve his job. He doesn't deserve his post. He doesn't deserve any recognition at all. What he deserves is to face the shame of what he did to me, what I have no doubt he did to other women and to face the consequences of his actions. But that will never happen. I live in a country, in a society where men like him are put above women. Where they can do no wrong and the women VICTIMS are just hysterics and sluts and "gonzesses" who have no place, no right to accuse a man of putting their dick where it wasn't wanted. If shouted to the world how this fuckhead treated me, I would be the one fined, sued, and possibly jailed for defamation. I would be the one to lose my reputation, my job, and any credibility. And he would continue on just as before. So I can't. And that makes me rage inside. Because the laws in this country, in France, bend towards the side of the accused and not towards the victim. So when people ask me why I hate France. Why I hate French men. Why I have no faith in this country or its system or any of the people who claim France is so great - this is why. Because even if I had come forward when it had happened it would have been my word against his and he would have been backed by our boss, another famous chef who wouldn't have wanted the bad publicity. All I can do is come forward here. Because I don't have any place else. |
| I got an email to update my blog so here I am. I am in the process of cleaning out my portfolio; loading up onto google cloud the stories and poems I want to keep and wondering what to do with my GP's. I don't think that I will keep my account any longer when my membership expires in September. I have found another website and community that is well, a higher level, and more interesting. Already I have had read very good writing there, received good responses to my critiques and received some very helpful critiques of one of my own stories. Sadly, I think I'm done with W.com. So updating this blog is kind of moot. But I'm on the couch and my paper journal is in the office and I don't feel like getting up to get it. So here are some thoughts for the day. It's the first time in a while I've felt calm. Deep inside my chest a peaceful openness sits and for once, I'm not angry or worried or frustrated about something. I feel soft. I wonder what I can do to keep this feeling or what brought it on, but as usual, any answers to the myriad of questions elude me. However, I still feel tired. That is the biggest frustration in my life. The constant fatigue that no one has ever been able to explain. I've taken vitamins, I work out, I drink water, I sleep as well as I can. And yet, I am always tired. I took a nap today, listening to an audiobook and snoring on the couch. At least this time when I woke, I didn't feel worse than I had when I went to sleep. Today and yesterday I have been thinking a lot about MSU and my year there. I realized that I barely remember any of it. I remember some of the traumatic episodes I had with Jan. I remember watching the Red Cross tow my car away. I remember Greg coming to visit and a few other things, but I don't remember ever cleaning my apartment or giving back the keys or picking up the keys. I don't remember how I got there or how I left. I guess, now that I'm trying harder, I can remember more than I thought. But sadly, most of what I remember isn't good. I think that's the way of most of my memories. I often wonder how people can remember so clearly things that happened in their past, in their lives, but I suppose that most people don't spend most of their time wrapped up inside the stories in their head the way I do. I spend so much time talking to myself and living in my internal life that I miss out on a lot of what actually goes on around me. In the past, it protected me. And still does to some effect - from loneliness, from despair, from feelings of uselessness. But now comes the added layer of deep social anxiety when I do actually find myself around other, real people who cannot be controlled by my mind and their actions are unpredictable. I cannot be at ease. And when I leave such social interactions, I'm filled with intense self-doubt, loathing, and fear that I said something that will paint me in a bad light, that offended, that will come back to bite me in the ass. Funny, because I never considered myself as someone who cares about what other people think, but I do care. Too much. And I have no self-worth. These past few days have been filled with nothing much. One day I spent sleeping, another I spent in bed. Another day I spent reading, and yet another worrying and following a thread on Facebook and then playing video games. I haven't written a word, read one word about wine, or touched my oboe. Today, now that I feel a bit more clear-headed (a bit clearer-headed?) and more peaceful I wonder if I just needed that mini vacation from it all. Will I start studying wine again? Will I start writing? Will I play the oboe? What am I going to do? What should I do - is how I really phrased it, as if I'm under some sort of obligation and given my career and my hopes, I am kind of under obligation to do two of those things. If I want to be a writer, I should write. If I want to be better at my job, I should study. It's the feeling of obligation that gets me down. Because I automatically think that I've failed since I haven't done either of these things for many days, and I don't feel like I'm doing either of them particularly well. And there it is. The self-doubt. The lack of self-worth. The feeling of hopelessness because I believe that if and when I go back to work, it's all going to go to hell. What I don't understand is how I've been able to make the commitment to exercise everyday, and stick to it so rigorously for over 10 years, when anything else seems to go out the window. Even adding yoga to my daily routine has not been difficult. But writing everyday? Studying everyday? Practicing mindfulness? Feels impossible. On another note, my body feels very sore these days. My ankle still hurts. The first is probably because of the yoga, I am probably pushing myself too hard and not resting enough, but of course, I can't seem to take time off. I can't convince myself that rest is a good thing because I feel worse when I don't exercise. I thought the stretches would help my body throughout the day, but they don't seem to be. Other than whatever is wrong with my left calf and ankle, I don't think I'm injured, but I don't enjoy walking around creaking and cracking and my muscles groaning silently at every movement. |
| An excerpt from a private journal entry I wrote earlier: I feel like Writing.com has become that relationship that played itself out long ago but the parties involved are too afraid to break up because it would mean venturing out into the real world on their own. The party involved here being me. I've been doing a lot of reflecting lately. About a lot of things. About me and my identity. About writing. About wine. About goals. You know, reflection. Perhaps I'm still part of W.com because I'm afraid to venture out into the real world of writing. Perhaps I use my job as an excuse not to write. Perhaps it is fear of my own mediocrity that holds me back from being the best (I can be). I have had a love/hate relationship with W.com for the past 6 years. Today's drama had made me think about if it's really worth sticking around. |
| Monday was my W.com account anniversary. 19 years. I always remember it because it's also my sister's birthday. I wanted to write something. I wanted to celebrate and write about my time here in my blog and take a trip down memory lane, but I didn't any of that. For two reasons: 1) I've done it before. 2) I was feeling bad about myself because I was injured, tired from lack of exercise, annoyed at the world and feeling down about myself. Monday was an all around pity party. Still 19 years. Off and on of course. There have been plenty of times I've abandoned this site and I've seen so many changes. But 19 years. I think that should give me some sort of seniority. I feel like strutting around and puffing out my chest. The pity party went on for all of the weekend. Saturday, Sunday, Monday and kind of Tuesday. I was depressed about not being able to go running. Depressed because... well because. So I decided to allow for the pity party and played video games all weekend. I'm slowly trying to wind things up again, but it's a slow process. Yesterday and today, I went for a short and very slow 6 kilometer run. My ankle still hurts but in a weird way where I'm not really sure what the injury is. I can run on it. I could probably push for a 10K if I really wanted to risk a serious injury. Yesterday it felt tender and my foot hurt but not the ankle and when the ankle started to hurt it was on the side not in the back where it had been hurting over the weekend. Today it kind of hurts in the back but not in the same way and the foot doesn't hurt. So I'm icing it after my run - which I'm currently doing now as I type this and hoping that if I just take things slow it will work itself out. I also changed up my Yoga routine to much gentler poses and stretches because I think that is what partly caused all of this. My upper back and shoulders and hips are always sore lately and I think that's because of the Yoga. I'm not used to stretching and standing up straight and my body is being forced to work muscles it hasn't worked in years. The 6 kilometers kind of bums me out, but the most important thing to me is that I run. Not how far. Also my knees are hurting but I wonder if that's because I don't have a yoga mat - so I ordered one because I'm tired of being in pain all the time. My reed materials arrived yesterday so I've spent a little bit of time making reeds. I'd forgotten how long it takes. It's frustrating because I just want to play. I don't want to have to spend 3 hours a day making reeds. While I was sitting there scraping away this afternoon, I wondered if I can't get someone in the States to send me a bunch of handmade reeds because I don't really want to deal with this crap. If I was still playing seriously, I'd be more into making my own, but to just play for fun, it doesn't feel worth it. I can't order ready-made reeds from anyone here in France because they use different techniques that makes the instrument wholly unplayable for my American face. Leave it to me to become spiritually attached to the biggest pain in the ass of an instrument. I couldn't have fallen in love with the flute or the piano like a normal person. I'm going to Paris next Thursday for the weekend. I'm not supposed to because we still have the 100km travel ban but I need my summer clothes (it's fucking hot here) and I need to get my shoe inserts from the podiatrist that I was supposed to get in March. All precautions will be taken. If I'm lucky, they'll life the travel ban tomorrow in the monthly virus state of the country address. I've seen a lot of memes out there about how 2020 is the weirdest year ever, and I'm starting to agree with that. |
| Two things. I've injured my ankle. I don't know how. I don't know what. But it hurts. Now, I can't run or do any physical activity at all really. I have to stay off it as much as possible. If it doesn't get better by Monday I'll go to the doctor but I'm praying it's nothing serious. I really need to run. My morning and consequently my day was ruined by an old biddy at the market who blew her gasket when the produce vendor went to serve me before her. Such an insignificant thing to throw a tantrum about - and this was almost a full on tantrum for someone who was 70 years old. I don't want to hear any crap about her being high risk, the virus, respect your elders. Blah blah. If she is/was high risk, she shouldn't be out. The grocery stores deliver. If she wants respect she has to earn it, just like the rest of us and learn to ask nicely and not throw a tantrum. And she didn't say anything about the virus or being high risk anyway, she just wanted to go first because she wanted to be first. Then an old fart behind me actually took her side and started saying that I had cut in front of him too (which I hadn't) and wasn't I just a bitch? It didn't turn into a row, but it was just enough of a shit show to disturb me enough to ruin my day. All that for 4 tomatoes and a bunch of asparagus. I know that seems weird, but I get very disturbed when people blow their gasket for such trivial things. It happens at work all the time. Lemon not sliced how you want it? Throw a tantrum. Wine served 1 degree too cold? (which is actually a good thing, but whatever) Throw a tantrum. The plates aren't the same as the last time you came here - not the meal the actual plates? Throw a tantrum. Someone touched your clothes at the laundromat? Throw a tantrum. It takes me back to the first time I was teased as a kindergartener, which I actually remember vividly to this day. That someone would lie about something and then tease me about it was so enormously shocking to me I think it's still traumatized me. I remember thinking even at 5 years old "Why would you behave this way?" And I still think that. Why do people behave this way? I'm not an angel. I lose my shit all the time. And maybe I'm remembering it wrong but I can't remember one time where I've lost my shit at someone and it wasn't warranted. Usually I lose my shit at myself, or at the situation, but never at someone for something so trivial. At least I think. Prove me wrong. Maybe I'm making it up but I can't think of any time it's happened. Sometimes I lose my shit at Team Sommellerie at work when they do stupid crap that I then need to fix and yeah, it's kind of trivial stuff but I know the consequences are going to cause a drama and a scene so I think me losing my shit there is warranted. And there are plenty of times I don't lose my shit and could. Julien loses his shit for stupid crap all the time. All the time. The man needs to smoke more pot or have more sex or I don't know what but he needs to get it under control. And even then I kind of understand why he loses his shit. Our jobs are so stupidly stressful. Anyway. Between this biddy blowing a gasket and my ankle I'm feeling pretty down and haven't accomplished much today. I should write or study as per usual. Or at least play a game to take my mind off of it, but instead I've been pouting at my desk for the last 3 hours. All this for 4 tomatoes and some asparagus. You better believe I'm going to make one hell of a salad later. |
I have posted the first two sections of my story "Invalid Item"  and I'm almost done with Part 1. I wanted to finish it today but I'm getting annoyed by how long it's taking. Why does writing take so long? Did it always take this long or am I really that out of practice? Or have I become so long winded and convoluted that I can't write a concise story and instead just ramble on? Anyway, what I thought would be a 10,000 word short story is looking like it will be at least 20,000 words with Part 1 being the first 10,000 that I'm about to wrap up. I hope that I can actually finish this one and not end up dropping it halfway through like the last two stories I've written these past two months because I won't be happy. As I write, I hear the whisperings of doubt dripping constantly in my ears. "Why are you doing this?" "You don't even know where you're going with this story." "You're just going to fail and abandon this one like you've abandoned all the others." "This is the dumbest thing you've ever written. You're just ripping off - insert list of various authors here - and doing a bad job of it.' Yeah well, fuck that. Even if this has no point and never gets read at least I've done something with my furlough from work. Yesterday, I did nothing. Literally nothing. I sat around and played a game on my phone and listened to true crime podcasts. The goal was to work- write, study, play oboe. I even got dressed and looked good for the occasion. But I ended up back in my pjs, laying on the couch and doing nothing by 1pm. I'm trying to be better about concentrating on my work, but without any actual goals that need to be met in the long term it's difficult. The fact is that I don't really have any goals in my life period. Don't most people have goals - like buying a house, or a car, or having kids, raising kids, earning a promotion, painting the house, traveling to Cancun, learning Spanish? I don't mean they have to be super ambitious goals like discovering the cure for cancer or taking over Russia, but I suspect most people have some sort of goal in life that they work towards. My husband's for example is buying a house and having enough money to live comfortably and not be bothered by anyone. He works to arrange his life so that his life is as people-free and as stress-free as possible. He just doesn't want to have to deal. That might sound well - lonely and irresponsible to some people - like he's shirking any responsibility to be an active member of society, which he is, but that's his goal because he doesn't trust or like people and that's fine. I don't even have that. I tried once to come up with some long term - bucket list - kind of goals but they ended up feeling far fetched and impossible. I suppose they aren't impossible, but given that I don't like my life as it is, it feels like learning Russian and visiting Gobekli Tepe are weird goals to have right now. Anyway today I wrote, did yoga. I'm going to run when the sun stops burning the street. And I'll play oboe. My reed stuff still hasn't arrived, which is weird. No word from the company where I ordered it either. M said he's stop by my apartment in Paris this afternoon. He's probably on his way now. I'm terrified of what he's going to find. But at least I'll know if I have to go up to Paris immediately to deal with a disaster or if the disaster can wait until travel restrictions are hopefully lifted in 10 days. |
| I don't give trigger warnings. I don't really believe in them. If I had a trigger warning placed at every little thing that might set me off, I'd literally never leave my bed. That being said, if you have body issues and don't want to read about someone else's, go away. Today the mailman came three times. Three. The first was to deliver my Lookiero clothes box. It's the European version of Stitch Fix or whatever. They send 5 items of clothing in a box one a month or once every two months and you send back what you don't want. I had cancelled my bi-monthly subscription a while ago when I'd decided my wardrobe was pretty complete and was living in Paris anyway where I could actually shop (as opposed to Arles where there are three stores and I hate them all.) But because I'm bored out of my mind I decided to order a random box, just to see what they'd throw in it this time. I'm not a huge fan of fast fashion either - which this company seems to promote by the landfill full, but eh I feel like seeing what's up. Oddly enough they sent nothing for summer, which as I've already explained, is what I really need. Insert eye-roll here. But I like everything they've sent and I might keep it all. The second delivery was a lettre recommandé which is a letter you have to sign for in France. It was face masks that my friend M, in Paris sent me because I couldn't find any here and apparently where he lives in Paris (a rather rich area) they're just giving them away. So he got me two cloth masks - made in France! - and sent them. This is supposed to be incentive for me to hop on the next train and go visit him, but I can't do that yet. I could say more about Mr. M and our friendship, but I won't. Not today anyway. The third delivery was the actual mail. Which included a letter from work about something I already knew about. Thanks to Julien who tells me everything, even when I don't want to know. Usually because it annoys him and he needs to vent and 90% of my job as his assistant is listening to him vent because he has no one else to talk to. And more face masks of the low-quality variety that I'd also ordered on Amazon. We can use them as a back-up I guess. My husband asked me if all my deliveries were done now, but unfortunately for him, I have reed-materials coming Friday. Supposedly. So three times in two hours. I had to sign for two of them. Why they couldn't just come all at once, I'll never know. Someone obviously didn't bother to sort his mail before he set out this morning. He must have been seriously annoyed to pass by our house 3 times. Or maybe not. What do I know? Anyway, I was worried about this clothes box. Over the past two and a half years I've noticed a serious change in my body that I'm not a fan of. I've gained weight. My hips are wide enough to fit a watermelon through despite never having been pregnant and my thighs are tree-trunks. My stomach when flexed, has clear abdominal muscles but most of the time looks like a bloated blob of too much cookie dough. This is infuriating to me. I am very vain and care a lot about my appearance. I used to be fat and when I lost the weight, and kept it off like I have for the past 11 or so years, I was very proud of myself. But now I just look really unbalanced. I don't mind curves. I don't mind hips and a butt, but jesus. My hips and thighs are way out of proportion with the top half of my body. The top half is thin, petit, can barely fill out an XS and the bottom is round and flabby despite running a 10K almost everyday. I don't snack, I work out, I don't over eat anymore. So what the hell? I know that I'm getting older and things change but the way my body looks makes me really unhappy. I'm not fat. I know that. My weight is still well within the limits of thin. I never changed the sizes for my box (XS on top and Small for the bottom), and I fit into everything fine. Almost. The pants are tight around the thighs but everything I own is tight around the thighs. It all still fits though. So I haven't gone up a size. Yet- I tell myself. But the way I look just looks disproportionate and flabby and I hate it. And am I just going to continue to get wider? Am I going to wake up one day and have to buy all new clothes because I can't fit into my pants anymore? It also makes it really hard to find clothes that look good on me. Anyone who has a curvy figure with a really tiny waist will know that finding clothes that don't accentuate the hips and thighs into gross proportions is difficult. I feel like it's gotten worse over the years. Everytime I look at myself in the mirror I cringe. I'm angry and depressed over it. On top of that, I am a hairy lady. If I don't trim with tiny scissors everyday, I could grow a goatee within five days. Sometimes at work- if it's been a really long day and I haven't had time to look in the mirror and make proper adjustments I can go home with a 5 o'clock shadow. But wait- it gets better. The sun and smoking have stained the skin on my upper lip to look like a moustache. It's not hair - which I could bleach - it's the skin. I look like I have a moustache. A moustache and a beard. Give me a week, a suit and a tie and I could easily pass as a man. And who wants that? Makeup barely covers the moustache. I could get heavier makeup, but I'm loyal to my brand and I don't want to be one of those people who coats it on. I have always preferred a more natural look. So at the moment, I feel like a sideshow freak. Out of proportion with myself, fat, and mannish and it's bringing me down after years of working to keep the weight off and becoming comfortable with how I look. That's been the sole advantage of being required to wear a face mask out of the house. No one can see the moustache and beard. Eventually I'm just going to wrap myself in burlap and put a paper bag over my head. I know I shouldn't care. I know I should own the curves. I know I'm not fat. Butts are in. But I can't. I just feel like every aspect of my life just isn't where it should be. Internally and now externally. |
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I think it's awesome that you're using that negative experience to get creative. It's hard not to just wallow when those things happen. I use a paper journal for most of my actual coping process too, but I do share bits and pieces on WDC as well.
Might try a short story a day instead. Stay safe. 
