My cough is much better thank you. It still happens, mostly in a bursting chain, but it is so mild compared to the sleepless week of coughing that I almost enjoy it now. Like after the library I worked at was so visciously busy and relentless for years, and then got quieter simultaneously with our getting a giant automated check in machine. Everything just felt light forever.
It all still feels a little light.
I am floating...
Summer is coming and I am committed to taking my family out for coffees and leisurely drinks in lovely shady courtyards and even sometimes at the slightly pricier beachside restaurants until I have used up all my month's money. In the warmer weather I often have large beers. Today we had a camembert with thyme and honey.
We continue to look to move from this lovely town that's not quite right. Montpellier awaits, which is maybe the right place, but the process is slow. Apartment hunting in France is very difficult. The prices are mostly not bad, but nice apartments, which one can casually see in the multitudes while walking around ("I'd like to live there, and there, and there, and there!") are strangely rare when it comes to the actually available listings. I guess it makes sense. If you had a lovely one bedroom apartment in a 17th century building with patio windows overlooking some postcard looking square in the middle of everything you need, why would you ever leave?
Wouldn't you just die and be buried there?
The answer is yes, apparently.
We went to Biot the other day, which is another of those medeival hill towns I don't get tired of but my darling wife does a little. It was an easy 9 out of 10 on the Seussian scale. I guess I can see my wife's point: they're all so ridiculously quaint in similar ways. But for me it always makes me lose my mind completely. My brain madly races. "Can we live here?" I ask. Sure, there's practically nowhere to buy food, and everyday would just be spent in the glorious town square cafe, and walking the same enchanting maze, but when I see the charming colors and winding ways my analytical abilities and common sense fall apart.
I just want to live somewhere ridiculously pretty!
It's all in reach.
I didn't take any real, arty pictures of Biot, just a few quick ones from the cafe in the square where we lingered with increasing length over our coffees. So naturally I had to clerkmanifesto the pictures up so they gave off the proper feeling.
And I added Doris.
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