Just when you think things are becoming static around here…
I had spent a bit of time visiting Renée before starting to leave the building to buy some groceries. As I was walking out I passed a peculiar sight in the parking lot—an ambulance, and behind it, a police car. Several people were milling about—students, so I asked them what was happening. “We don’t know either,” they said.
I waited a few minutes then decided to go ahead for groceries. On my way home I was jut back to my room when one of the other students topped by.
“Did you know what just happened? With the ambulance and stuff. It seems someone committed suicide.”
“Well, who was it?” I asked.
“Don’t you know? It was your neighbor. Room 316.”
I had to admit that, think as hard as I could, I could not remember anyone ever emerging from 316, or who was living there. Not particularly surprising, since I don’t really know my neighbors all that well—the only way one would happen to see them would be if one emerges at the same time.
Very little seems to be known, by anyone I’ve talked to, about the person. Not even the nationality. It seems hew was quite a recluse. So often one hears this about these kinds of people. Very peculiar, however, so close to me, here. I have reflected often that suicide, among other things, is a very selfish thing to do, because the victim inflicts the relatives with perhaps a lifetime of pain and guilt. However, I was told that that attitude is extremely calloused and lacks understanding. Perhaps. Case closed.
I’ve signed up for the ski trip to the Jura mountains Saturday. But I’m mildly concerned because today I have developed what appears to be a pre-cold-state sore throat. If I get a cold now right against the talons of the one I got over just two weeks ago, I’ll know something is definitely wrong: either climate, food, or something amiss in my own resistance. This past year has been incredible for me with colds. Since August-September, when I had that monstrous one that even gave my laryngitis, I’ve had 2 more colds, and now I might be having a third. I might be having Barb’s problem—she wrote me that she’s had a cold for months. Sounds more like an allergy, that. Perhaps that too is my problem.
This week I’ve spent a considerable amount of time studying Burgundy wine in the city library. I only wish I could afford to try some new—but I’ll no doubt have to satisfy myself being a “theoretic expert.’” On reflection I wish that, instead of spending my time here drinking any old vin ordinaire, I had tried to buy some better wines and made a more careful comparison. But, I reflect, that would have cost even more money and already I’ve spent a lot more during my time here than I had planned.
—Jan. 27, 1983, Dijon, France [I studied French at the University of Burgundy for four months from 1982-83.]
OtD 