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Monday, July 25, 2011

Excuses, excuses...

I make excuses all the time. Some of the time they're harmless little lies, "oh sorry I can't talk just now my tea's ready and I have to go to work"... But a lot of the time they're completely honest real reasons, not even excuses, mostly involving money and not having enough of it.

Talking to Claire and Laura the other day made me notice that we talk about money a lot. It's not because we're all money-hungry capitalists who don't want anything else- the opposite really.
We've taken badly or barely-paid jobs for the benefits of living in a foreign land, lunching on cheese, and drinking by the Seine or the sea, living in the 'city of light'. (Or in a shared caravan, which I reckon is less of a benefit than a daily struggle.) The thing is, I bet when you have enough money for everyday living you don't talk about it as much- you'll be spending the time we use talking about money just spending it.

I'm passing up an evening at the pub and a half pint for 3.50; therefore I talk about that 3 euros and fifty cents that I've just saved; I make comparisons between various possibilities for that money, (3 bottles of fresh milk would leave me with 29 cents, which I could then add to my collection of centimes for the stamp machine) and thus convince myself that I'm much better off sitting in, on my own, drinking tea with disgusting UHT milk. As I'm leaving tomorrow evening and it's only sold here in massive bottles, I cannot justify buying the milk I've just saved up for. I'll appreciate it when I get back though.

No-one's even asking me for excuses today, as I have no friends to invite me to do anything. Woe is me. It's just that I feel guilty for sitting in my studio all day, eating chocolate digestives (I didn't buy them- they were a luxury gift!!) pretending to pack, half-heartedly taking postcards off the walls, when Paris is outside. But I'll say it again- Paris is blooming expensive!!

For goodness sake, I'm writing to myself about making excuses to myself about doing nothing. Sorry everyone, this is boring.

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