Daffnee

I spent a few minutes in front of the Cathedral St-Pierre watching the Genevian and Swiss flags flapping the way that flaps are meant to flap. Sat on a marble bench, kicked my feet like I was five, and drank from my Nalgene. Watched Martin Luther's old church not move. Felt the Murphy's stout work through my body and noted how square flags flap much better than rectangular ones.

The housing debacle may have sorted itself out now, meaning I get to stay with my rather easygoing German roommate who doesn't mind that I have a strange playlist, polka-dot underwear and speak Chinglish late at night when I'm calling my folks. On my side, German in the background is kind of soothing and good white noise to go to bed to. She also makes me speak more clearly, which I'm told is a long-standing problem.

Haven't been sleeping well, i.e. getting up at 5:30 AM. Nearly passed out at work this afternoon from sleepiness; sorry kids, but reading UN resolutions on indigenous rights just isn't the same as a vente Americano. I must be in the completely wrong profession if I don't enjoy building up rearview padding and eyestrain, eh?