I have come to Dijon and I have found an adorable home, in the south, in the French suburbs.
I didn't know what to expect. I made myself expect the worst, just in case.
It's adorable.
We have a little tiled porchy porch brimming with plants, and basil and a few other herbs, i have learned. We have a cat Zaza, whom I am assured is extremely affectionate. I have my own fridge, to seperate food quarrels, although I doubt there will be any, my roommate is this lovely energetic older woman, really zesty and tends to shout when she speaks. She has short hair and red glasses. She lived for most of her adult life in Tucson, AZ, but she is french and has returned here to explore her roots. I'm noticing now her apartment has a true Arizona sentimentality to it - the curtains are striped in reds and golds, the glass door to the porch has swung open with a determined nonchalance as if hungering for the sun. My room is wonderful, a comfortable matress and rose wallpaper and a lacey window covering. Will upload photos as soon as I am able.
She insists on taking me out, and I feel obliged to accept her hospitality.
'some people will tell you you're crazy, but those are not your friends,' she advised me, dancing around the cute little kitchen, stirring rice, spilling beans, munching on lettuce in between long droughts of wisdom. Her eyes glow with a vehemence, but there is nothing negative about her actions. Stubborn, maybe, but still so youthful. She opens up to me as if it is nothing, maybe it is nothing to her, she's seen a lot in her life.
We are going to rest, and then go to a poetry reading together.
It's nice to use cutlery again.
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