Yesterday, I straightened up around here and reorganized some furnishings, giving me a wee bit more living space. I also tended to some necessary school/government affairs.

I spent a good part of the day with the TV on, trying to train my ear. Nothing magical has happened with that so far. I did get oddly attached to some of the characters in the series I was watching, and now I’m wondering where I can find a English transcript so I know what happened to them.

My residency here in Paris is now officially confirmed, which one is required to do within 90 days of arrival, or you could be asked to leave. Another box checked.

Then, I signed up for an online course at L’Alliance Française for SPEAKING (conversational) French, since my B1 class is mostly grammar-based. We interact in class all the time of course, and I am learning to understand spoken French, but I’m ready and eager to learn more ways to express myself. « Malheureusement, » these courses/classes were booked for the month, so the online Saturday morning class was all I could get. No sleeping in! The advisor said it would be a good place to start and suggested I return in two weeks to register for an April course. « Rappelle-moi! »

It’s Monday, and « je m’ai réveillée » thinking about « le grève de les travailleurs de Le Métro » and set up at my tiny desk to get to work. I checked my emails, and made a small pot of coffee. At 8H46, I started to wonder why I hadn’t received an email from AF with an online class link, and thought maybe I’d better text my friends. My sweet mansplainer friend was first to reply — Lisa, we’re at school today, the strike is over! Well he has turned out to be a real sweetheart. Nice to be wrong. At that moment, I was really glad I’d insisted on renting an apartment so close to school. I dashed around, packed up my work, and was still early for class. Everyone else seemed to know the strike was over.

After class, grocery shopping was on the list today – and some flowers – and my daily bread. Sunshine, wind, and spritzy rain was what greeted me as I turned onto rue de Vaugirard. This seems to be typical weather for « Paris en hiver. » I’ll take it.