So, Italy win the world cup on the night of a spectacular full moon. How do I know? Because Beatabet and I travelled in Jules' knackered old car down to une petite village with a "Sports Bar" (a bar with a 30-year-old tv in the corner, and a Table Football machine) and watched the match with some local fans of les bleus. Why do I bother writing this in my blog? Because I feel like this event marked a phase of my time here which is over. My honeymoon period.
As we travelled down squashed together in the car, it became more tangible that these people already know eachother. A clique exists. Not only do they know eachother already but they do not know me. They are not my friends.
This isn't to say that they never will be my friends. This isn't even saying that it will be a while before they are. I'm pretty good at making people be my friends. I suppose it just highlights the fact that I am utterly unaccustomed to hanging out for any extended period with people who haven't known me for ten years or more. I seem to have come to rely on the fact that people already understand my moods and my meaning without me having to suffer the indignity of being excluded from a joke or misunderstood. Still, I suppose that this is a learning experience, isn't it?
I'm pretty sure things here will not only be fine, they will truely be great. But now, in this period after the honeymoon and before the comfort of familiarity, I am married to a group of people I don't know and haven't won over, and it's a bit odd.
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