still sleeping?

Don't you ever get bored of sleeping? I once knew this guy, who was quite a painter and who played music with me most Sundays in Neuilly- let's call him Flavio just for kicks. I must have been a bean pole, all of 14 and Flavio, more like a good 30. Good ol' Flavio used to tell me how he only slept four hours each night and how I should learn to reduce the hours I waste in bed each night. There was nothing peculiar in our relationship, only in his statement: why would you want to tell a growing teenager, they should learn to sleep four measly hours per night, preferably less? Yet Flav's goal was even more ambitious than this. He desired to get down to two hours a night, which would, according to his ingenious idea, allow him to produce award-winning masterpieces exibitions en masse. In good Turkish, at light speed he would be producing, and all us normal loosers, would be wasting our breath in bed.

Well Flav, if you ever stumble accross this blog, I still do require a few more hours sleep than you do, but I don't think the idea is that crazy after all. In fact, if you sleep too much, you get tired. Or even worse, I just get bored of sleeping. Well, that is the same here, I am kinda bored of resting. I can't make the cut, students. Last night, I attempted to wind myself down with a book and by phoning one friend I can always chat with at any hour, and by the time I was tired, must have been 2am. You see, I condition my body for more than this on a normal basis :)

My boss wrote me a sweet email and let me know that if I was really that bored, I could work on this one pending project... Hmm, did I really say I was bored? In any case, his mail was heartfelt and meant a lot at a time in which, I would have loved to see my colleagues again.

Instead of slipping on sleet, snow or ice to see Coco or Chrysante at work, I went over to the neighbor's house noticing simply moist roads. Das weiss ich zu schätzen! We had a nice chat before we went to the older sister's house. At 29, Penny is the eldest of five children, and she just bought her own appartment. We decided to have a nice raclette with just the four very look-alike sisters, plus me, at her new place. We haven't seen eachother all that often ever since I left to GB, then D, then CH. So, we made sure to book the evening seeing all girls are around.

Penny is such an artist. You can tell that when you enter her home. Not much for cleanliness, she prefers the artistic look. She kindly removed her 1.5 x 1 meter cow made of paper maché for her next play as we wondered if we could sit on her couch. I noticed, whilst she jammed Mr Moo in the cupboard, that she had taken to the wall with watercolors and painted the kitchen on the living room walls, proudly announcing "her next DIY attempt to blast a hole through the wall to the kitchen". Her studio has a definite flair of its own, and an unmistakable bachelor feel to it. Quite something.

Penny asks each guest who comes for the first time to draw a self-portrait looking like a king (or queen). She has some wild plan of what she will do of the drawings. I was surprised she never asked me to draw my hand. You see, Penny has this thing about hands. She wanted me to shake her hand to see whether I could pass the assertiveness test (after her arm virtually slipping out of socket, she let me know that I passed the test). It must have made for a funny picture in the end to see five girls continuously shaking eachothers' hands. We had a nice evening and left the kitchen free from later chores. Number two sister, Carina, drove up home, but not before hitting the Twingo parked behind us pretty badly in true Parisian style. I love it here, but I am sure that wasn't Charlette parked there. I would have had a cow, making for interesting company to the paper maché one stuffed in the cupboard at Penny's.

PS: Chrysante, btw, I take it no news from my beautiful silver chariot is good news? :)