etre en pleure.

I wish I understood French as well as I understood Spanish. Or, at least, that the things I listen to in French had a "slow down" option. Plus lent, amis! It hurts my brain to have to think that fast.

I wish I spoke Spanish as well as I speak French. My future job prospects would thank me for it.

Let's ignore for a minute how fucked up that is. I'm mad at my brain for not being able to handle three languages fluently (let's not even begin to speak of that dabbling in Greek I tried a few years ago), but at the end of the day I should be thankful of the worlds and opportunities that have been opened to me thanks to my multilingualism.

Also, because this is a health blog:

Bilingual Adults Have Sharper Brains, Study Suggests

Actually, I'm pretty sure my brain is squishy. I haven't been able to jam my finger far enough up my nose to check lately, but I'm almost certain it's squishy rather than sharp. But it's comforting to know that my purchasing Celine Dion's latest French album is potentially saving me from dementia, especially since it cost me $25 and I don't know 90% of the lyrics (quiz me on "Moi quand je pleure," I actually KNOW that one word-for-word).

So even when I think I'm failing, at least I can say I'm doing something for my cognitive health. I think watching Les Miserables counts too because they say "monsieur" a lot.