Cela ne vaut pas la peine

I have hayfever. My eyes itch, I can't breathe, and yesterday I got through a whole pack of tissues whilst lying in the park.

And so, in a hissy fit, I went and bought some emergency hayfever tablets, foretting they make me stupid.

Like, really stupid.

Anyway, by the time yesterdays tantrum kicked in, it was fairly late and I was drunk before I remembered that I could actually do something about the sniffling and the eye burning, so I took them earlier today.

And then went and did the whole teaching French thing.

"Can we do a listening exercise today?" she asked me.
So we did-

Il ne s'agit pas d'une bataille contre les médias, went the tape.
"Imogen," she asked me (Miss Clarke! Her mother hissed at her from the doorway), "what's that?"
I looked blankly at her, and couldn't remember.
"Could you repeat it for me, honey?"

Cela ne sert å rien, was the next thing- "Imogen, what does it mean?"
"Remind me what it said?"

After about half an hour of that, I made my excuses and left, leaving my bag behind, with the final bit of the tape whirling about in my head. Cela ne vaut pas la peine, it's not worth the pain.

Then I went and tried to buy coffee, not realising I'd left my bag behind- "Hey there princess," said the man waiting at the counter and looked me up and down.
And I smiled at him, because the tablets make me dozy and just that bit too genial, which is apparently why he decided to try his luck at escorting me to uni- and I let him pay for my coffee.

But I'm not such a scarlet woman; I won't be had for just the one cup of coffee, and certainly not by such an ugly gentleman who thinks that 'hey there princess' is an acceptable chat-up line.

So then I went on to my university library, nearly getting run over in the process, managed to get lost in the isles and then tried to walk out with an armful of books, setting off the alarm at the door, causing librarians of all shapes and sizes to come running and students of all flavours to cast squinty eyed looks in my direction.

Leaving there in a hurry, I fled back to my flat- after allowing myself to be conned out of a fiver by a pretend diabetic.
I hate that, I really do- not that I'd necessarily give them money if they just asked, but when these people pretend to be diabetic and in need of a sugar fix or whatever, I don't want to give them money on principle.

Eventually I got up to the flat. Remembering my keys were still in my bag and nowhere useful I knocked on the door hopefully, and found myself face to face with the New Visitor- we don't like him, he called me rude names that seem to hold my virtue in question.
I walked in and accidentally smiled at him and he came over, pressing me against the wall by the open front door, one hand on the wall above me, the other a heavy weight on my chest, as he played with the pendant on my necklace.

Then I locked him out, and fell asleep on the couch to the dulcet tones of him banging on the door.

So not, as such, an entirely wasted day, but not one of my best. I'm now devoid of one handbag and all the pennies that were lying around in my jeans pockets.
And it's only just gone mid-day. But the tablets seem to be wearing off, which is A Good Thing. And they didn't stop me snuffling anyway.