Shiksa on the riviera, part 3

This is the part that sucks about being away. I'm missing two of my dear friends' wedding right now. Husby is at the church getting ready for pictures because they have asked him to be an usher. I was meant to sing, but then this France thing happened. Not that I'm not grateful to be in France, but on a night like this, I just want to be home with the ones I love.

The day started off wrong, really. The masterclass ran really late, I didn't get home till late, I woke up late and therefore did not go for a run in the obscene heat, and I've been crabby since. Lunch with SJ was lovely, really and truly, and then I had a quick chat with my husby, wherein we discussed the fact that my letter from Chicago STILL had not arrived and I was really starting to fret. Practiced with Chris the pianist, did a p90x workout with Marcus, ate supper and decided to go for a swim. Which was a lovely idea. In principle.

Somewhere between the salmon pasta and the creme anglaise on the dessert, my stomach went into full-scale revolt. I was almost sprinting back to the hotel, and sprinting in a swimsuit and flip-flops is NOT pretty. And then I read my email. The letter came.

I'm supposed to be flattered that I was under consideration until the very end. I'm supposed to be able to look at this with levity and perspective. But tonight, I have no perspective. I'm tired, my stomach is empty and angry, and all I want to do is lay down and cry.

Tomorrow will be different. I'll get up early (intestinal misery is a good reason to go to bed early) and take pictures of the sunrise, I'll have coffee in a lovely little seaside cafe, and I'll have an easy day leading into the competition. I'll sing Lakme in a killer dress. I'll look fabulous and sing something I love to sing. And then I'll be glad I get to do what I do. Just not tonight.

Pictures from the masterclass at the Kerylos Greek Villa with my maria callas eyeliner and my Norma hairdo: