So, sitting here all day, reading old emails in a sort of attempt to start 2005 with a clear idea of just what went on in 2004, I come to a couple of realizations. Which have nothing to do with old emails. Or maybe I just came up with one. I'll keep writing, and we'll see how many come out.
First, I realized at some point that I'm in the habit of not trying at all to understand people when they speak French to me. That's not to say that I don't understand them. I just don't listen very closely. I can't seem to convince myself that it's a good idea to closely listen to somebody speaking French, even if it's to me, and I care about what they are saying.
For example, earlier today, in the street, Anna and I walked by some altercation, wherein one man was yelling at another, loudly enough to hear, and then they exchanged blows, and then one guy pulled out a knife, and then the whole thing was over. I was curious enough to watch them, and wonder what they were arguing about, but I didn't try to comprehend their words, even though I most likely could have if I'd put forth some effort, and it undoubtedly would have shed some light on the situation.
Another example: when our landlord Mr. Palate talks to me (admittedly about complicated subjects like mold and construction) I never comprehend what he's saying, even if he's directly talking to me. I end up asking Anna later what happened.
Maybe that's it: always having somebody around who really can understand French has made me lazy. Or maybe I was already lazy. Or maybe I've just become generally non-commital to people in general. The France effect.
As far as what's happening these days, I'm practing guitar and writing and recording songs, and reading books, and generally trying to enjoy myself and edify my life all on my very own, with Anna as a kind of cohort. Or, according to Robin Rich, just a hort. That's it. The super-interesting things that happen happen either in my head, or in retrospect. I've adopted a certain jaded attitude to shield me from the harsh realities of life that are surely happening to somebody else. If they happen to me, I don't realize it until later. You should all write me letters in the meantime, pending actually talking to me.
I also realized that I have developed a penchant for not making any sense at all. Definitely the France effect.