Now the hard part

I knew there would be days like this. But it still makes me want to curl up in an Air Mail box and go back to New York. At least for an afternoon.

Everyone told me the French are hard to infiltrate. But it’s different when people talk about it, and you understand it as a concept, then when you’re actually living it and it’s your daily reality.

And I knew the language would be tough and take awhile. Obviously I didn’t expect to become fluent overnight. But, man, it’s killing me! Not being able to communicate is the hardest thing, whether I need to ask the IT guy why the @!*@ Microsoft Word switches from English to French in the middle of the afternoon, ask the patisserie about the different kinds of yummy breads, or just carry a conversation beyond the “how are you?” pleasantries.

And work is exhausting. Whoever said the French don’t work hard never worked at Ogilvy.

My stress relievers and comfort cures back in New York would be yoga, renting a movie or having a drink with one of my dear friends. But I have neither a yoga studio or TV hookup, nor one of you here with me.