What Just Happened?

Belgium may not have been my best idea to date...nothing to do with my host, I understand prior commitments and that having a grown up stay with you means that they have to be a grown up and look after themselves. (ie I had to spend a lot of time alone...)

I get it. Sorta.

No wait. Hang on. Do I get it? No. Yes. Did I do something wrong? No. Maybe? Too.much.thinking.

About 30 minutes later, after convincing myself to leave the flat for awhile, I decided to just partake and enjoy what beauty my fragile way of living had to offer me. I revelled in the glory that is travel and staying with friends and glimpses into the way other people live. I took a philosophical point of view and tried to think positively about my lot in life.

Then I figured out that my lovely trip to clear my head was going to have too much time in my head and too little clearing.

bollocks.

I spent 90% Tuesday - Thursday stuck inside my head. My head is like a bomb site at the moment. Not the best place to be. There's the corner over there labelled 'self-worth' and it's like a bear and hippo had a fight and tore everything in its wake to shreds. Then there's the corner called, 'what-are-you-going-to-do-now?' and it's a well-worn track worn into the ground so deep that if it were real and a person could walk it, it's up to hip level by now. There are other corners too, mostly concerned with social etiquette and interaction, there are bits that deal with Scotland, immigration, and of course what does every person with a pulse think about?

Chocolate.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

But in Brussels it was mostly the first two corners that occupied my mind. It was mental figure 8s. By the end of the second day I'd concluded: 'Good god, Elliott Smith is starting to make too much sense.'

In an unfortunate turn of events my body decided to create a physical distraction for me. Being a female is infinitely fun, it's all rainbows and sunshine and ponies with kittens and bows until the bill arrives. This happened somewhere between pondering 'Well, what the hell do I do now?' and 'What is so wrong with me?'

I've heard that sometimes your body mirrors your emotions. Didn't realise that beating myself up was going to come about so literally.

Well, being caught unawares in a foreign country is always a jolly good time. Especially when there's the itsy bitsy problem of a language barrier...

Ha.

Off I went to discover a pharmacy, thinking it would have what I needed.

After looking through several streets and finally finding one in a train station, I started to comb the aisles for what I so desperately needed. I remembered that in Spain they were behind the counter. I looked back there and nothing save a very big, intimidating middle aged man. I inched away trying to not attract attention. Having anyone else know what I'm looking for is always a little embarrassing, dunno why, just is. Like buying toilet paper. Everyone knows these things do happen, we just don't proudly go around advertising, 'I need and use toilet paper regularly because I am a hygienic person!'

Well, that's how I feel about shopping for tampons, even if it is in a foreign city. Now, given this admission, why am I blogging about it?

Because what happened was funny.

After inching away from the intimidating pharmacist I found the family planning aisle. There were condoms cheerfully saying, 'Go have fun kids!' Next to the condoms were pregnancy tests saying, 'Had a little too much fun, huh?' And then nothing. It's like the shelves were silent.

Deciding I had to try and ask the scary man for tampons I went back to the counter. And cautiously said in French with a quiet voice, 'I would like tampons please.' Granted I don't know the word for tampon, but I knew all the other words. This resulted in a loud, 'HUH?! Condom?!' and a pointing gesture.

'Err, non.' (God how I wished I needed condoms.)

Then he grabbed a pregnancy test from behind the counter and handed it to me.

'Non non, non. J'ai sangre de femme. Sangre de femme?' I think this translated to: 'No no no, I have woman blood. Woman blood?'

I said this quietly and with a very red face. The response was a loud, 'HUH?! Repeat!'

I refused. I have my dignity to attempt to uphold. I'll retell the story with a laugh but I'm not going to humble myself further by shouting in a pharmacy in the middle of busy train station, 'I HAVE FEMALE BLOOD!' Maybe if I'd added 'time' and a few hand gestures he'd have caught it. Finally he handed me a pen and I wrote, 'tampons'. And, in true comedic perfection he said (in English I might add), 'Oh, we do not sell those. They are in the shop at the bottom of the hall on the left.'

It's beneath the Belgian pharmacist to sell tampons. Of course. Naturally. Condoms, lube and pregnancy tests, fine. Tampons? No....

Luckily, they did sell them at the grocery store at the bottom of the hall on the left. They also didn't give me a bag so it was either carry around 32 tampons in my hand or empty the box into my tiny travel purse.

Oh it was so much fun to open my purse the rest of the day...

Needless to say, when I got on Eurostar I couldn't wait to get back to London and life where I had somewhere to be other than my head. Oh, and where they sell feminine hygiene products at Boots and Superdrug, you know, pharmacies, like the rest of Europe...tzzz Belgium. I'm gonna need you to do better.

I think I could have hugged London today if that were possible. It even rewarded my return. How? Why, with an interview!

In a rush last week I applied for an internship with a PR company specialising in art and interior design firms. Obviously out of respect for the company I won't name it.

While I was in Brussels I arranged an interview for when I returned. The interview was earlier today. Oh thank god I've got something on the ball.

I start in August. If, at the end of my dissertation with Christeby's I happen to still be with them, and if I happen to be good at writing press releases, I might just have a job starting with the end of my degree.

Looks like I may be in London a bit longer yet. Thank god. If I move to Belgium I'll have to start speaking French and buying tampons in grocery stores along with my milk and bread, and that's just a little weird.

*May I just offer a sincere thanks to my friend who let me stay. I don't know if you read this from time to time, but I really appreciate that you let me stay, and when we actually spent time together I enjoyed myself a great deal. How about next time you come here though? It's a lot easier for me to entertain myself in London. Oh, and I won't end up ordering raw beef salad on accident. lol xx*