L'ecole

School is in full swing. Full. Swing. Mondays I get up at 5:30 to catch the 6:45 bus and begin the day with my favorite teacher, Fabien (I call him Fabio). He refuses to use any English (even though he was a professor in Wherensburg, Missouri- weird I know, he's french I swear.. but speaks perfect English) and I would never compete against him in a game of charades because he is a pro at getting the point across through actions. 

Unfortunately, as it is with all great teachers, I have to actually be awake and alert for his classes. 

He is bald. 

Then I have phonetics, dear lord, I simultaneously appreciate and despise that class. 

Our teacher is like "that English teacher" that every student has at some point. You know the one I'm talking about. All work, no play. High strung. Anyways, it's trés difficile. It's like a music class because it's all about rhythm and pronunciation. 

I hate geography, that hasn't changed. Our teacher is quite the character. 100% French. She has probably has a million different facial expressions- most of which are quite comical. Her whole persona just reminds me of some bizarre Disney character. 

Our class seems to get along pretty well and it's been fun getting to know everyone's personalities. 

The cafeteria is a zoo. A zoo that I can't communicate with. After I push my way around the food and grab whatever is most convenient (pointing and smiling in place of French), I go through the check out line (another smile), then pick up my silverware, sauce, and glass without breaking and/or spilling anything on or around the people bumping into me (smiles), I have to find a seat for (at least two) in a European lunchroom in which everyone sits right next to each other. 

Rant out.