And only sometimes, the merde continues.

 Hello again and apologies for not having written for a while.

Now I'd rather not let anyone be disturbed by this title, because life is far from the 'Vie de Merde' I wrote about many, many blogs ago in October and November. In due course I will explain myself.

I tried my very best to be optimistic about everything bad that came my way this year even though at times I was angry, upset and just plain frustrated at the way things were.

• No internet for three months
• Living alone in the middle of the countryside for three months
• Losing (and paying) for a new passport (THEN FINDING THE OLD ONE TWO MONTHS LATER)
• Bureaucratic people telling me to go away and come back when I had more paperwork (and thus not getting important things done)
• Paying great amounts of money just to GET internet (doesn't seem fair really does it when you just want a phone line in for four months?!)

But as I've said before, the turn of events, the amount of bad stuff that kept recurring was just too much for me at times. Every time I went to McDonalds, I couldn't stop thinking about how impractical it would be to write my dissertation from there. And often when I got stuck in CORBEIL ESSONNES for an hour at a time waiting for a train or bus which never wanted to arrive, I would think to myself “What in the world am I doing here and why did I ever think this year would be fun?”

So this month, January, notoriously know as one of the most depressing times of year after Christmas, made all the red flags go up for me. I was apprehensive on the Eurostar back from London. But then that month turned out to be full of laughter, Pringles and loud music late at night. It was the friendship I needed, some form of solidarity to get me through the next following months. And I actually haven't looked back on the first three months, as Edith Piaf would put it “C'est payé, balayé, oublié, je me fous du passé”.

But this morning, when I logged onto my emails to print out the tickets for my flight to Barcelona next week for the February half term holidays, I got the shock of my life when I realised that, being the total idiot that I am sometimes, I had booked a flight on the 14^th from Barcelona to Paris and a return flight from Paris to Barcelona.

My experiences with Ryan Air, Easyjet and Jet2 have never been a bundle of laughs. Actually that's a lie, I've hated every minute of flying over the four years. But the worst bit is undoubtedly the booking part. One day I want to hunt down the person who invented online reservations and 'reservation codes' and 'check in online' and 'print your own tickets' and kick his ass.

So there I was, staring at the screen trying to believe that the screen was wrong and I was right, but fifteen minutes later I came to my senses and accepted that the screen was right and I was wrong (as usual, one-nil to technology and Rachel).

So I guess that means there's a 'frais' (Oh how I hate that word – it means charge) in order to change the flights (because as much as I'd love to, I can't spend the rest of my year abroad in Barcelona).

Well anyway, this unlucky bit of misfortune has nothing to do with the unlucky events that took place from October to December. I know that very well. 

But often I can't help thinking to myself “Why does this unlucky stuff happen to me consecutively in the space of four months?!”

Sometimes, the merde continues, even when you think it's gone, but it's been an hour now since I was staring dumbfounded at the screen and after sitting down and writing about it to calm myself down, the feeling of vexation – Stage 1 of Grief 'Denial' has been somewhat replaced with Stage 5 of Grief 'Acceptance'. During the writing of this post I think I must have gone through Stages 2, 3 and 4 'Anger' 'Bargaining' and 'Depression' without many consequences except that my face looked like this the whole time:

To fellow friends abroad, or preparing to go abroad, all of you sorting your lives out on foreign ground: have no fear. Merde or mierda or Scheiße may come your way but don't give up. I admit, I almost wanted to, when I had to re-read terms and conditions in FRENCH for what felt like the hundredth time this morning but in spite of all things bad, don't give up on yourself.

Luckily, I haven't given up yet, don't think I will. But how not to is a constant lesson that I have to keep learning every week.

Until the next time! (and apologies for this being short and somewhat one-sided. The next post will hopefully be full of sunny photos of beautiful Spain).