327 days left (but probably less)

Dear friends,

This adventure may come to an end sooner than expected, as it is on the brink of the death that I am writing what may be my very last post. When I moved back to Louveciennes, I thought I would easily accustom to the harsh climate of the Parisian suburbs. Having lived there once, couldn’t it be done again? I plainly believed it would be rejuvenating. I imagined myself enjoying the fresh air, maybe learning to breathe again, maybe running naked in the forest, arms reaching for the sky, singing songs only sparrows and Thoreau would understand.

But nature knows kindness not. Weakened by a hectic and fluorescent Parisian night, my body did not withstand returning to this cold and windy land. The first symptoms of what I recon to be an incurable disease where diagnosed last night. Shivers at first. Sensations of cold, of heat, and of cold again. By morning, I barely had the strength to talk to the village healer who came to my bed. And as he left the room, I could tell by the despair in his eyes I had very little time left to live.

Dear friends, Louveciennes has defeated me, but I leave this world with neither regrets nor sorrow. It has been an honor to fight this battle with the wild, and to fight it till death parted us.

Suburbanly yours,

Alex

329 days left

I’ve had a lot of unusual stuff happen to me while going out: falling asleep on a speaker in a club, being face-nut by a rottweiler named Tupac, near death experiencing while walking by -20 degrees across a forest and a frozen lake (true story), being arrested for laughing too hard (also a true story, at least from my standpoint). And I’ve seen even more amazing stuff happen to friends of mine.

Now, the reason why we gladly recall these stories is that in the end, they all turned out with no one being (significantly) harmed. And the reason for that is that most of us follow a simple yet golden rule: if a drunken friend of yours disappears in the middle of the night, odds being it isn’t because he’s scored, you don’t assume he’s doing fine, you go and look for him. Sometimes, this means you’re gonna have to walk away from a great party or prematurely terminate what could have ended up being a passionate and meaningful love story. Whether it’s because you care for your friends or simply because you don’t want to be the one left to die in the cold the day you’re the one in need, you never abandon the sheep astray.

That’s how I was saved from near-death while walking in a frozen forest or from spending the night locked up for having laughed too hard (I swear that’s how it happened). That also how I saved a “good” “friend” of mine from certain death a little more than a year ago. I was in an awesome party when I discovered he had disappeared. Odds were he hadn’t scored, so I left the club. I stumbled upon him a few meters away, half unconscious, lying in a ditch, in a state it wouldn’t be decent to describe. I tried putting him in a cab but soon realized no decent taxi driver would accept to transport such hazardous merchandise. Having but one option left, I called those who appreciate laughter not. That’s how my “good” “friend” was safely brought home in an ambulance instead of spending the night in a ditch.

Unfortunately, this “good” “friend” seems not to recall this incident and did not consider necessary to return the favor when I potentially was in a tremendous amount of danger a few weeks ago. I’m a gentleman and will therefore not give away his name. However, if you ever see a drunk guy in Paris begging for help, saying his name is Fleurent Beuilly or anything that sounds alike, leave him to rot, will you?

336 days left

Sorry for not posting so much lately, but keeping a blog can me somewhat of hassle, and the past few days I just haven’t been in the mood. It’s not that I haven’t come over interesting enough blog material. That I have. I just couldn’t get my head straight and write anything down.

My problem is that I sometimes suffer from what some eminent psychoanalysts refer as the “fuck-it” syndrome. When a normal human being shows signs of anxiety, panic and sometimes confuse over-activity when in a situation of stress due to an important workload or a difficult situation, the person suffering from the “fuck-it” syndrome will react by either: watching TV-shows, watching profiles on social-networks or googling random words. Even-though it makes him feel bad, he can’t really do anything about it. It becomes a drug. And with the advent of facebooks and high quality video-streaming, what used to be marijuana has become heroin. You can stay high on it for days…

Well, for the past few days, it’s been hard enough to fend of that craving for inaction during the day. At night, giving in to watching the next episode of “The Wire”, “How I Met Your Mother”, or “Prison Break” was just unavoidable. Hence the little time for writing posts…