August. We're in August.
I know we've been in August for a couple days, thank you, but I've only just realized exactly what it implies.
Paris is now deep in estination* (same as hibernation, except in the summer, and don't look it up, i don't think that word exists.) - half the shops are closed, half the people are gone, strangely though, the metros are as packed as ever. Also, it's cold. It took less than a week to go from sweltering to slightly chilly.
I wish that fifty years ago we'd all decided that body odors were something we could all deal with and that we'd collectively agreed to stink to high heavens, instead of using those CFC-filled cans of deodorant - the seasonal divide would be a little more reliable.
Whatever. Even though it takes the bulk of this post, I'm not here to talk about the weather. There are much more important issues at stake. What am I going to wear when this translation is over and I have to face the outside world, for instance - because it's hard to dress in this weather. Damn. Again about the weather. I'm turning British.
More importantly though, I'm wondering how time can fly by so quickly that my whole life will be over before I can say "where the hell did all the time and fun and games go that I can't even tell where the hell they did go question mark question mark question mark, and exclamation mark for good measure".
* estivation. there. that's the proper word.