Hey guys.

I've been back since Wednesday 25th, and back to work on Thursday and I'm only now readjusting to "normal" life. As normal as it can be, anyway.

Last blog post I made was a very positive one. I was so happy with how things were, and then it all took a turn to shit. I know I'm sounding dramatic considering that things weren't so bad, but bear with me: on Midsummer Saturday, late at night (though it was probably early Sunday morning) I decided on a hunch to open the Air France webpage and was greeted by the now familiar red sign that said "Mouvement social". For the 150th time this year, air traffic controllers were going on strike, from the 24th to the 29th of June. Yours truly was going home on the 25th. Joy.

Now some of you might remember my awesome plan to fly to Paris with Timo as he had a company thing in Montpellier, and you might remember how happy I was at the prospect and how I felt it would make parting much easier for us to do it at the Parisian airport. Well, that didn't happen. At first he was waiting for a decision from his boss, who didn't make one until Monday afternoon: She was not going to Montpellier, but the rest (my SO and two people) were free to go. So I thought there was still hope for us. Especially since I had my sister harass Air France by phone and was told that 80% of the initial unions were withdrawing from the strike, so cancellations would be minimal. But then there was a communiqué saying that the flights that would be affected were the ones to and from the South of France, North Africa and Spain/Portugal. Just our luck. His coworkers decided that they didn't want to take the risk of being stranded on French territory, and who can blame them? So Timo was forced to cancel his trip. It was Tuesday morning, he had already checked in, and packed his bag. That was pretty harsh. The last night was horrible. I cried more than I usually do.

The only positive part is that since he had checked in and gotten his boarding pass, he was able to go through security and wait with me at the gate until I boarded. That was something.

Other than that, the trip was uneventful. First flight left 10 minutes late, which did not impact my second flight because it was 45 minutes late, too. There was a whole lot of bullshit with gates changing at the last minute, and then Air France personnel insisting that we weigh our carry-on AT THE FUCKING GATE and check in whatever was over the limit. The fuck?

I got home safely (though very tired after the usual discomfort of an AF flight), missed the Germany-USA game, tried to keep a happy face in front of my family when I was dying inside, and was pretty grateful that I'd have to go to work the next morning instead of facing my mother all day long. I couldn't escape her in the weekend, though. She's being extremely clingy, which I get since she missed me, but she insists on talking about subjects that I have no patience for (like my prospective marriage to a yet-unknown Algerian man) and she keeps listening to religious programs on the radio and trust me, after spending 17 days in secular paradise, that's bound to create some culture shock, if you can call it that. Just yesterday morning I was woken by a radio preacher stating that a woman leaving her home with her husband's knowledge and consent is taking the first step towards adultery. Please kill me now.

I guess I should talk more about the trip itself, maybe post some pics and write more positive stuff, but I don't have it in me to be cheerful right now. I'll leave it for another post. I just miss him so much, and it's four months before I see him again, and he's taking the separation pretty hard, obviously, so life is shit. It'll get better, though.