On my way to work this morning, my ipod stumbled upon "Relax" and I almost cried. This is not a good sign. I think I may be suffering from PTSD.
Perhaps the pangs of nostalgia would subside somewhat if things picked up a bit at BM. Unfortunately, I seem to be de trop on my current assignment (whatever it is), and my manager has yet to find any use for me other than going through a small library of background documents (all of which I've already finished reading; one of the side-effects of having been a lawyer is being able to digest mountains of information in a very short timespan). So, instead of being productively employed and thus suitably distracted from my INSEAD-driven thoughts, I am sitting at my sad little desk, staring at my sad little computer and (discreetly) blogging.
The silver lining (and there always is one) is that the lack of anything BM-related to do has left me plenty of time for flat-hunting, my current number 1 priority. I mean, it's nice to be living the teenage dream of having my mother coddle me while still being able to go out whenever I want, but all good things must come to an end. It is time for me to trade in home-cooked meals, clean laundry and a vastly oversized living space for a "room of my own", à la Virgina Woolf, where everything in the fridge will be past its due date, six-months old editions of ELLE will be littering the floor and two cats will be on the verge of murder-suicide. But the parties will be legendary (apologies to my future neighbours). It's not a done deal yet but I think I may have found the perfect bachelorette pad, in my favourite neighbourhood in Paris. Fingers crossed.