en haut

i woke up with a sore throat this morning. a really bad sore throat. and that was after thirteen hours of sleep. 

it was my day off from school (you know, the one where i was supposed to go to London?). so in keeping with my Jo March attitude, i decided that i'd be darned if a sore throat would keep me from my Paris free time. 

that was until i got out of bed and saw stars. so i crept back under the covers to read the Picture of Dorian Gray. 

at about 13h00, after forcing orange juice down my throat and jumbling together a outfit comfortable enough for how i felt yet fashionable enough for Paris, i ventured outside my apartment where a torrential rainstorm awaited. i made my way to the post office a block away to mail postcards. But, in tradition of long French meals everywhere, the post office was closed for another hour for lunch. 

so, i bought an orange, crossed the street to the train station to seek refuge from the elements, and listened to the saxophone man play "Hey Jude" like he does all day every day.

at the end of the hour, i went back to the post office. after waiting in line for a half an hour, i realized that there was a machine that said "affranchissement" or "postage." feeling a tinsy bit dumb that for standing there forever, i rushed over to the machine and followed the instructions to buy a sheet of postage. 

that's when i broke the machine. with several rushed Parisians behind me. My one euro coin got stuck. don't ask me how. i sill don't know. a sweet older man came forward and asked "Avez-vous un problème?" what a dear. He offered me a key to un-jam the euro, then a pen, then a knife, then a paper clip. Finally, i asked the woman at the front desk to help me. I apologized for bothering her/breaking the machine/holding up the whole post office. She was only kindness. After twenty minutes or so of fidgeting, it budged! i bought my postage, stuck them on the postcards, and hurried home to get back in bed. 

i practically threw those postcards into the post box. i was so relieved to be home. that's when i realized i had bought domestic postage, not international. Seeing that i was almost in tears, my sweet roommate melissa offered to go back and ask them if they could open it up. 

Can you guess the end to this run-on story? they said no. 

so now all of your postcards are going to end up in an incinerator somewhere on the outskirts of Paris. 

i'm sorry. i tried. 

love, ems.