The flood

Last night I slept in the office on three chairs. It was late by the time I had finished and I just didn’t want to go back to that flat with the sofa that smells of mice and the smelly chairs. But today, I just felt I had to shower and change clothes and maybe sleeping on a mattress would not be so bad. So at 1:30 am I shut down the computer and decided to go home.

On the way home in the car (yeah, I went home in my very own car for the first time!!!) I thought that now everything may be good and I manage to cope with life in France, at least for a while and that it was time to tell the people with the van to deliver my boxes that are still in Glasgow.

Am I going to write about today’s moment – the “I am going to pack my bags and go home moment”? About the flood in my flat, the soaking wet rugs and the soaking duvet (at 2am in the morning – looking forward to 4 ½ hours of sleep before I go back to work)? The moment when I wished I had at least one friend I could phone and ask if I could crush on her sofa tonight. I don’t think I have the strength to write about this moment and how all this happened – it is 4am by now, I will try to get at least some sleep in spite of a washing machine that I filled with smelly soaking wet towels and clothes and that will be taking a stroll around the kitchen, banging backwards and forwards for the rest of the night.

I need to get out of this flat as soon as possible. The question is where am I going from there – am I going through the effort of finding a new flat or am I going to give in and finally pack my bags and leave this whole project and France and go back home?