Too much coffee

Despite drinking decaf this afternoon I fear I have over-stepped the caffeine mark today. Symptoms include shaky hands and light edginess. Otherwise, today has been much better than the last two days. Bla bla bla, I'm boring myself. I am listening to the latest zero 7 album, 'The Garden'- a good selection of featuring artists. On Tuesday night it was 'la fete des voisins', a national day I think, which involves what was in my building a rather awkward affair, with tables and quiches but rescued by a few bottles of fizzy wine and two young guys that I am pleased to discover live on the floor below me. This means that despite my faux pas a month after moving in, I might be forgiven by at least some of my neighbours. The faux pas involved my sisters sleeping so deeply after my 1 euro a beer party on a boat that when my other two friends who were supposed to be staying in my flat returned at 3 in the morning on a Sunday, they didn't hear the doorbell or the unrestrained banging that followed for a whole 15 minutes before one of them stumbled the two metres from bed to door. It is fair to say that my neighbours were somewhat perturbed by this incident. This was made apparent by two hand written letters kindly placed in my letter box the next day, one which was fairly reasonable from two different neighbours on my floor, and one which a little more excessive from a man that lives on the floor below me (not either of the young guys I met on Tuesday) and claimed to have already started a petition to get me expelled from the building. I was a little worried and so I asked my obliging boyfriend to help me write a letter (so, yeh, he wrote it) and I copied it out by hand, scanned in on the computer and printed 30 or so copies and put one in every letter box for the people in my part of the building. The response was mainly positive, one letter, the concierge who told me it had been accepted by 'the neighbours' (this means the oldies who complain to him) and finally the little old man who lives opposite who told me that he had not read such good french for years and he would keep it close to his heart! I, of course, do not speak the way this letter was written and would be uncapable of writing such a thing, hence my prevailing fear of any conversation with anyone in my building. Which I am pleased to say I overcame on Tuesday with the help of a little fizzy wine and quiche.

Coffee. Don't do it, it'll turn you into me tonight. Reading this back I am appalled at how boring it is and how detached I feel from everything I just wrote, but deleting it would feel even less honest.

Ah well, there are more important things to care about. Goodnight