For the Love of God, do the French HATE THE INTERNET?

I have arrived in a desert. I wasteland. I have literally become a dried up raisin of a person. Unplugged from the lifeforce, abandoned by the community, cast out by my facebook and skype Karass...I am alone. Utterly and completely alone.
I live with two, very lovely, retired French people. They don't have a computer, or an internet connection. I cannot access the wifi at school until they give me a password and they wont give me the password until I have my ID card and I can't get my ID card until they take pictures...which are schedule for next week. There are no cafes within walking distance where it is acceptable to squat and scam off the free wifi. I don't even know if they exist. The mall is a short trek up the highway (a lenient term due to my distress) and closes, inconveniently, at 8pm.
As a last ditch, I have spent my weeks budget on a small USB device that should allow me to pluck a 3G signal from the air like a fresh glistening fruit of knowledge.
At a paltry 3,50 Euro (around $4,50) per hour, the internet, at my regular projected internet usage the grand average of $140 per week.

Current total allotted expenditures per week: $65 per week
Dammit.

The Art of Taking Notes

We've started the second week of classes and already it seems a bit of a drag. I like some of it, but for the most part, the teachers just explain too slowly and I spend a lot of time spacing out. Well, not too much time, but that's the problem. I'm afraid to space out, because she's speaking French and it's more difficult to just jump back into the conversation if I decide to ignore my professor for 5 minutes. Spacing out, definitely a no go. So instead I sit, kind of bored, listening to her once again explain the finer points of french grammar, of course both the ones I already know and some which I don't, once again foiling my attempts to space out.
All in all, I neither am coherent enough to understand nor distant enough to enjoy a good day dream.

A Glorified Spongebath

In France, it is not quite so customary to take long, wonderfully warm and comforting showers. Maybe they don't like that. Regardless, the setup in a french shower is strange and different when compared to those in America.
You see, in order to maneuver the water onto your body, you must take hold of the shower head which rests at the bottom of the tub on the end of a long metal tube. Then, you spray isolated parts of your body as if you were a dishwasher in some sort of short order restaurant. This would be mostly alright, a little bit more work but alright, if not for the fact that one's bum is pretty consistently cold. Perhaps not cold, but at a temperature not corresponding to the temperature of the rest of my body. This will not do. Tonight, I endeavor to take a bath, but on the mornings when I must rush, I have another plan.
I purchased (and believe me, they were not so easy to find) a set of suction cup hooks. To one of these, I attached a thin cord, tied with a slip knot. Then, I attached the hook to the wall. Difficulty came when I attempted to attache the cord to the shower head by way of another slip knot. I have yet to attempt to bath with this contraption, hanging conspicuously from the wall. I will have to try when I have more time. For now, I will operate under the hopeful and probably delusional assumption that I will be able to enjoy anything close to a normal shower anytime in the next four months.