A Return of Sorts

Gads. I’m off to London and then Paris tomorrow night. It’s a trip i planned months ago, and if it were to have been planned closer to now, in my jobless, moneyless, nearly hopeless state, would not have happened. But who cares anyway? I’m set on making it perhaps the cheapest European tour on record, with the exception of bringing back several large bottles of this one mustard whose absence in my fridge is killing me. I left a barbie-pink suitcase full of books and other impossibly heavy items at my friend Nils’ apartment in Paris. I just couldn’t fit one more bobby pin into my exploding three bags on the final flight home from my 10 month sojourn among the Parisians. It’s funny because i left with not so much more than i came with, which is a testament to my thrift and to my utter disappointment with French shoes. Lucky for me, because all those pinched Euros are now feeding me eggs and rice and Swiss cheese.

I’m worried about emptying my bank account and forgetting to get online to file for unemployment on Sundays because i’ll be nursing several cafe cremes as an antidote to my red wine hangover (coincidentally, it’s the Beaujolais festival when i go). But alternately, i’ll be nursing delicious cafe cremes as an antidote to all the delicious cheap red wine i’ve been drinking. To every silver lining there’s a cloud, no? And i’ll be able to end half my sentences with “no?” again. And so draw what conclusions you will, but i just love ending my sentences with, “no?”

Otherwise it’s been an emotionally exhausting few weeks, as they all are if we’re present enough, no? Speaking of obtuse new-agey thoughts, I wonder how i’ll meditate during my time in The Old World. I may have to work extra hard to get a few seconds of empty mind on the train, or get my chi flowing in a squatter restroom where, don’t laugh, all but one of my Paris key life realizations happened. All in all, i’m at a loss as to how i’ll handle it all. I was unequivocally miserable when i was living there. Elated, I boarded my very last CDG to JFK flight in May. But these days the travel bug seems to be sneaking up on me in odd and rare moments when i’m swiping my metrocard and jonesing for a solitary glass of red wine while watching the rain settle in on a smokey window pane. It’s a little cliche, but Paris is the most faithful cliche out there. So you kind of have to hate it and love it for that at the same time.

Bisses, and i’ll be reporting from the field for the next two weeks…

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