It is just beginning to snow in Paris. I am sitting with frozen fingers in Parc Monceau, trying to make use of the free wi-fi before I go exploring today. I woke up to the sun through my rooftop windows and the sound of Clothère and Adelaïde running through the house (the grandchildren of Monsieur & Madame de Ribier). I'll have to return another day when I have grand things to say and the internet to accommodate me. Bon weekend!
The past sixteen days have been a dreamless blur. If my memory is correct, the average person has three dreams per day (depending on the length of the sleep cycle) and if they're lucky they might remember one or two. This fall I had the silliest of dreams: I walked into a store of pencil sharpeners with nary a pencil in sight, I bought the same groceries from Trader Joe's in my dream that I purchased hours before, and I tried to kill the Terminator. I dreamt consecutively of one person for several days and I still wonder if it's possible for two people to dream about each other at the same time. Surprisingly, I haven't had any dreams in Paris.
In other news, this is the room where I sleep. Electric Wall-E toothbrush and all. Now I'm off to work/work/launder/dance to Serge Gainsbourg! Tout à l'heure!
I leave for Paris terribly soon. Within hours. I am too nervous to sleep or breathe or think straight. I've felt nauseous all week. All month, to be honest. I've cut my hair, packed my things, and left matters vague and unresolved. All my life I've wanted to go to France. And now that I am, my mind is horribly confused. Fraying at the seams. Not quite on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but close. So quite naturally, I turned to a movie that has never failed me. Sabrina. I will never know how many times I've seen this film. Despite wearing out two VHS copies and just recently buying a second DVD, watching it this afternoon while packing seemed different. I've spent many a summer night falling asleep to "Isn't It Romantic" drifting through the garden into the Larrabee tennis courts. And still, today seemed different. I feel exactly in her situation. Granted, I am not a chauffeur's daughter, I do not live above a garage, and I am not going to culinary school- but there are similarities. I'm certain of that.
Goodnight dear friends. I'll see you soon.
