I woke in a relatively good mood this morning. The rain had stopped. Once my daughter was ready for school I got quickly dressed and headed off to the gym. When I got there the doors were closed and realized it was not 9:30am yet. Here in the rural French countryside, life doesn’t start before 9:30. Except for the Leclerc supermarket which opens its doors at 9am to let queuing dim looking pensioners in.
Anyway, 9:30… and my gym is still closed. I check on the internet and realized that on Thursdays, the gym opens at 5:00pm. #WTF
Ok, breathe in, breath out… Now that I’ve drove all the way here for nothing, I’d better stop by Leclerc for a quick grocery shopping before going back home – un-gymed. And that I ended up at the supermarket, wearing my track-suit, and NOT wearing make-up. I’ve hit the bottom. Before I know it, it will be a regular thing. I’ll be fed on pork and potato at very meal… Images rambled about in my mind of a “me” turned country-girl. Not the beautiful country-life glossy magazine version of country-girl. No. The
fat flabby, red cheeks, unstylish, disgusting version.
It’s been inside me for a while now, waiting right there on my lips, ready to be shouted out loud… I DON’T LIKE SLOW LIVING IN A RURAL ENVIRONMENT.
Slow Living in the city is fine. It means taking some time for a nice fancy expensive coffee in a quirky vegan cafe, reading magazines like “Flow”… it means driving to this “pick your vegetables yourself” farm on Saturdays to enjoy a bit of organic country life… it means buying lovely handcrafted candles at the artisanal market you went to on Sunday which was held in super trendy loft… But it
doesn’t shouldn’t mean wearing wellies and torn jeans all autumn and winter long because it is so muddy outside you can forget about your Repetto flats. Or skirts. Or style. And forget about a cosy interior where your antiques will be enlighted by light grey linen sofa covers and inviting creamy rugs – that is if you have a husband and/or a child and/or a dog. I refuse to believe a country house (where people actually live in) can stay clean for more than two hours.
I have 5 more years to try taking what’s good over here – the best point by far is the education environment where my daughter will be safe until the end of high-school.
But in 5 years, I’m back to my city life. It don’t care if that means I’ll have to live in a 15m2 (160 ft2) again. I’ll be kissing the ground of my beloved Paris and head to the gym right away – which opens at 7am FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! After years away from home, I now know I’d rather be in Paris!