Out

That's all I can think after my first day back at work: I want out. It's not only because I couldn't log on to my computer, I had no phone and no cell phone reception. It wasn't because when a co-worker let me use his id to log on, most of the files I kept on my hard drive were gone. No. It's that while I had almost nothing to do, I couldn't even do the one thing that would have been useful: read a draft report. It's not that I don't remember how to do the work (how could I forget?). No. It's that I can't imagine being happy doing this work day after day. I have never liked it. When I first started the job, I enjoyed the challenge of learning how to do the job. But the substance of what I do? I can't stand it. It's boring. Very boring.

I can't up and quit at this moment but staying in this job will kill me--heart and soul--that's what my time away has taught me. I wish I knew what I wanted to do instead, but I have learned, with almost complete certainty, that I can't stay. What's crazy is how much they need me and how much good I could do there. With a new administration, things are sure to get better and possibly we'll get more interesting projects. But the substance of what I do? It will (I think) stay the same. And if it does? I have to get out.

I have this idea that I'll put myself on a one year austerity plan. I will attempt to save as much money as possible over the next year (not quite sure what that will entail, I need to give it some thought), and then I will quit for good whether or not I have something else lined up.

Since getting back, I've been surprisingly happy. I've had a lot of stuff to get organized and that helped. I wasn't spending all my time missing Kent and worried about our nebulous relationship. But, even when I did think about him, I felt happy. It's all good memories and no regrets and only the slightest tinge of anxiety. We're staying in touch and while that doesn't mean much since it's only been a week, I haven't nothing to worry about. I can't control the future--it is what it is and I'm pretty calm about that. I actually smiled when I thought that I'll get to tell people about him--talking about him makes me happy. So, even that situation is a net positive.

Being in our crappy temporary workspace (they're cubing our old office), in a communication black hole, was the first time I've felt bad since being home. I got grumpier and grumpier as the day wore on. I didn't want to be there. It felt like a waste of time. Why didn't I bring some knitting? Why couldn't I focus and read that damn report?

Out. I have to get out.

Grateful for: knowing.

Home again

Before getting to the meat of the post, which I wrote over the last couple of days, I wanted to mention that the blog had its fourth (!) anniversary on December 29th. I would have written something on the day but I've been a little distracted.

Since returning, I've been incredibly productive. What have I done? Check it:

• Cleaned the fridge
• Unpacked
• Gone running--twice!
• Gone to the movies
• Ordered parts to repair the door of my fridge
• Scheduled estimates to replace my non-functioning a/c unit
• Renewed my AAA membership
• Talked to my parents
• Emailed with friends near and far
• Ordered a new mattress
• Found a body shop to repair the van (it had a minor fender-bender while parked--I may just pocket the check)
• Written and mailed a few checks
• And a few other things I can't recall…

It's a little crazy/chaotic in my house but it is MY house and I like it there. The shower? Heaven. The empty fridge? Not so much. I do miss Kent. How could I not when the couple-oriented holiday to end all couple-oriented holidays is today? Yet…yet, I don't feel bad. I feel oddly relaxed. So much has happened and even though I did nothing while I was away I think it was exactly what I needed. When I got on the plane to fly home, I thought, "I'm not scared. I'm not going to get scared." And I didn't. (Even though the flight included some hair-raising turbulence and TWO puking toddlers on the descent. I didn't take a single pill.)

So, 1,028 posts (not including this one), four years and who knows how many left to go? Thanks for joining me!

---

12/28/08

The whole world knows that CDG (Charles de Gaulle Airport) is impossible. Today, the impossible became the incredibly easy. The shared van picked me up at 7am and by 7:54 I was checked into my flight. More amazing? I arrived at the airport at 7:45 and the trip included one stop to pick up another passenger. I guess the Sunday morning after x-mas isn't prime travel time.

On the drive, which wasn't particularly hair-raising, I tried to take in as many sights as I could in the darkness. I got a great view of the Arc de Triumph and a few other less familiar spot. No Eiffel Tower, unfortunately. We did drive by the Stade de France, which I never visited and it was impressively large. I do not regret missing it, though.

I thought about what regrets I have about this trip. Did I see everything I wanted to see? No. Do I feel terrible about that? No. Do I wish I'd traveled more in France? Yes, but there is still time in my life for that.

I realized I wasn't thinking much about Kent. I wondered why and I purposefully thought about him. I felt like crying and realized why I wasn't thinking about him. No need to feel sadder than I already do. Big, huge, ridiculous sigh.

I did plenty of sighing during our last few days together. The time was altogether too short but more than long enough to admit a generous amount of sadness. This relationship was not in our plans. It's decidedly inconvenient. It hurts to think that we won't see each other again but it's a definite possibility. Yet, I can't imagine that we won't ever see each other again, but even if I wanted to go to England in a month or two for a visit…well, I can't get into the details but he may not be available. It may be much longer before it would make sense to visit (that is, before he'd be available to see me). And who knows what will happen in that time?

The ambiguity is immense and I have to accept it because that's what it is. That's this situation. The day before I left, I asked Kent, jokingly, what I should say if someone asked about him. He said, "Asked what?"

I said, "You know, if someone asks me if I have a boyfriend. What should I say?"

He raised an eyebrow and said, "It depends who's asking." I laughed. "If it's the Brad Pitt look-a-like coming up to you in the bar…"

"Ha ha. So, what if an Angelina Jolie look-a-like came up to you in a bar?"

He said, "She's not my type."

I said, "Oh, c'mon. She's everyone's type."

"Well, that kind of woman doesn't approach me."

I said, "It's not actually Angelina Jolie."

He didn't answer.

I said, "You know, Brad Pitt isn't my type either, but I took your meaning."

---

When I first arrived in London, our first and second days…Kent actively encouraged me to write. I'd written a couple of pages on the novel idea and he was eager to see them. I wouldn't show them to him because they weren't good. They're not good. I couldn't get the plot started. I didn't know how to get from here to there. I didn't have a clear conception of the characters, their motivations and I didn't know how to put them into action. Instead, I showed him a story I've been working on for the last couple of years, which I haven't touched for about a year. He read it and laughed because I'd already told him much of the story in bits and pieces. I think he liked it though it's not really his kind of fiction.

I took a nap and when I got up, I found Kent working on the story idea. Amazing. We talked it through and then I apologized for being resistant to his encouragement. I tried to explain that I was touched that he was pushing me but that I felt resistant and I didn't know why and I didn't know if I could do it. We talked through the story a little. And then I explained that I actually had an idea for a novel about "relationships" ("That's mostly what you write about, isn't it?" Yes). I laid it out for him and he said, "That's a good idea. Why don't you do that?" I should do it. I still can. I tried but not very hard and I stalled out early in the process. Just because I'm going back to work doesn't mean I can't write. In some ways it means the need to write is even greater.

Being in Paris was a release--from everything, from almost all my responsibilities (though they were humming in the background)--when I get back to work, writing can be my release. Maybe.

---

It's good and strange being home. Strange because it's so familiar and easy to be here. My place seems huge but it's MY place and I'm happy to be in it. My neighborhood is gritty and not-quaint but I'm not shocked by that either. It's MY neighborhood and I like it despite its non-charming ways. There is a decided lack of access to decent bread…but we all know that is completely survivable. I think I'll be a little more grumpy when I  go back to work next week but for now, it's not that bad being here. Would I rather be with Kent getting ready for a drunken New Year's? Yes. But you know what I'd really like? If he were here to celebrate with me.

(Kiwi-types should appreciate this but in the coffee shop where I'm writing this, I can see a guy wearing a t-shirt that says "Pure Rugby" with the "Steinlager" logo underneath. Steinlager is a New Zealand beer. Now, I won't go talk to him because what would I say? "My (kinda) boyfriend is from New Zealand…but I haven't been there."? Heh.)

Happy New Year y'all. Have a great time tonight and be safe.

Grateful for: home

Moving home

It's after midnight and that makes it my official last day in Paris. How can it be?

I knew the time would go fast and it has. I can't evaluate the whole thing, not now, I can't think about it. Later, I'll do that later.

What have I done on my next-to-last day? I got up, not as early as I'd intended. I did little. I watched some tv (on the computer), I looked at my suitcases. I called my landlord. I moved my suitcases around. My landlord came over and we had one last, long chat. He brought me some sweet bread. I tried to give him a bottle of wine but he said I should drink it. I said I'd try.

I moved my suitcases around some more. My American friend, Nadine, texted to see how the packing was going. I said it wasn't going and asked her to come over and keep me company. Graciously, she agreed, and came bearing bread and a mini-quiche.

She said, upon seeing my bags, "That's it? It won't take long. An hour." We talked for a good long time and we got started on the wine and food. She encouraged me to pack while we talked. In fact, I got the packing done in 50 minutes, talking all the while.

We went out around 8pm for dinner in the neighborhood. One last, good, French meal was in order. The service was slow but friendly. The food was decent. The prices were ridiculous.

I will be happy to be home, in my own place, in my native culture. It will be hard to go back to work to have a steady routine again and I will miss...so much.

Perhaps I should talk a little bit about my last ten days in London. I had a good time with Kent. We did some low-key sightseeing, we spent a lot of time together and it was good--mostly sweet, a little bittersweet. We will stay in touch and that is all I know for certain.

We spent a couple of days with Alicia and her family, which was great. They welcomed us with open arms and made us part of the family. We even got x-mas presents! We brought...little...but I did make latkes on x-mas eve and they came out splendidly (if I do say so myself). Oily, delicious mess that they were. I've cooked for Kent many times, and he for me, but the latkes met with by far the most enthusiasm of anything I've made for him. I was pleased. Alicia and Ian seemed to like them too. We ate an extraordinary number.

And, then, before I knew it, I was back on the train, heading for Paris. I got in late, I woke late, I stalled on the packing. At 7am, I get on a shuttle and head to the airport. By 10am, I'll be on the plane and at 5pm I land in Washington.

This won't be the last entry but it may be a few days before I get my bearings and can write again. See you on the other side.

Grateful for: my time away.

Boxing Day

I went to the post office today and spent a fortune shipping a bunch of crap home. It probably would have been wiser and no more expensive to pay an overweight charge at the airport. That's what I get for trying to make my life easier: it gets harder.

The price was so exorbitant for the boxes as packed that the nice man at the post office suggested I use some of their set-rate boxes. This lead to the unpacking and repacking of my boxes in the middle (well, next to one of the walls) of the rather busy (holiday time) post office. Awful.

Plus, for each box, I had to fill out two forms and with three boxes that meant six forms altogether. Incredibly irritating. I should have either paid to ship the boxes as packed (gulp) or got myself home and stuffed everything, somehow, into my suitcases. Would have been a tight fit, though. Even worse, my two boxes didn't fit into their three. So I had to haul a passel of stuff home anyway.

Everything I have will fit in my luggage but I may exceed the weight limit. We'll see.

I am packed for London. One thing I don't have to worry about. I have this fond hope that once I get to London, I will stop worrying. I have a place to stay, Kent even went to see it. I have my time with Alicia arranged. That's all that should need doing. Let's hope it's as easy as it seems. (Repacking my London suitcase will not be fun--I am bringing too much stuff. It's ok, I can deal.)

Other than that, I've done almost nothing today and certainly nothing fun--or at least Paris-specific fun. I was close to staying in all night but I decided to run that one last load of laundry instead waiting until tomorrow morning so I'd have the day clear to do…something. Not sure what will get on the agenda, but leaving the house is up there. I will leave for sure because I have a concert to go to at 8pm and dinner in advance of that…but I'll leave even earlier and take a walk and perhaps visit a photography exhibit (there's a free one at the Hotel de Ville).

Right now, while the laundry is running, I'm sitting in a sweet little overpriced café around the corner. I paid too much for a demi beer (25% of a liter) but the upside is the sound of conversation and a jazz combo playing softly and skillfully in the background.

I wrote another paragraph on the novel and I don't know how to get the plot started. I've never tried to write anything remotely "genre." Nothing I've ever written has much of a plot. I write the kind of stuff I don't like to read and I can't write the stuff I find most entertaining. I'm not surprised.

Grateful for: organization (such as it is).

Getting ready

In lieu of doing my laundry, which was on the agenda for tonight, I'll write something. How novel! (No, not a novel. Very little progress on that front.)

The big news is that I'm going back to England next week and I'll stay there until right before I head back to the US. This leaves me less than a week in Paris and I'm losing my mind ever so slightly. I am close to having all I need to get ready, though. I have two boxes ready to pack and send home early. One box is small is already mostly filled with books and papers. The other box is medium-sized and I'll fill it with clothing and shoes. (I'm sure I could pay a little more for overweight luggage but I'd rather handle it this way--plus when I have to carry everything to the airport, it will be easier.)

So, the pre-packing is all set. Now all I have to do is actually pack and make a trip to the post office. Next week will be time enough for that.

On Tuesday, I went to get my replacement carte de sejour (residency card). Except I didn't get it. What I did get was a temporary card an appointment to come back and get the permanent card on January 30. Heh. Since the temporary card (a half sheet of paper with my photo and an embossing stamp) is good until the end of March and I'll be back and forth only once more in December, I'll have to live without the permanent card. Oh well.

The next major agenda item is seeing things I haven't seen yet. First up was the Louvre. I went last night around 5:30pm and stayed for a couple of hours. On Wednesday nights, it's open until 10pm and if you show up late, like I did, it's "only" six euros. I browsed all around but mostly looked at the Spanish paintings. That place is so huge you could spend weeks there. It's impossible. But, hey, I went, I enjoyed, I won't have any regrets.

Today, after a slow start, I went to the Rodin museum. It is one of the best ones in the city. It's small, accessible and full of absolutely gorgeous works of art. While it was freezing cold outside, which made walking in the sculpture garden less than entirely pleasant, it was clear and sunny. The pretty clouds in the Paris sky were almost as pleasing to the eye as the sculptures. I will miss that.

I am busy finalizing the details of my trip to England. I have my train tickets. I don't have the accommodations set, though I'm pretty sure it will work out somehow. I wish I had all the answers but I can deal with things. It helps that I heard from Kent and he confirmed that he wants to see me. Before I was worried, now I feel…distracted. With all I have to do to get ready, it's hard to think about the good time I'll have when I'm there…but I know I will have a good time. I know I'll be happy to see him (and Alicia and any other friends I manage to catch up with). We'll have a great time and I'll be astoundingly sad when it's time to go home. Ah, well, what can you do?

Grateful for: being ready.

A very local day

It's crazy hard for me to get motivated to do anything. It is cold, dark and often damp outside, which contributes, no doubt. While I don't actually feel sick, I have a lot of symptoms--runny nose, frequent sneezing, the occasional cough and tiredness. But no headache, congestion or that run-down feeling I usually get when I'm sick, so I'm at a bit of a loss there.

The uncertainty about my future doesn't help. Going back to a job I've never particularly liked, excepting the challenge it presented when I first started and the good, steady pay. A relationship that has rather more challenges than prospects, despite the fact that it's the best, most positive experience I've had in years. This is a man with whom I've spent more intense together time than I have with anyone since my serious grad school boyfriend and with whom I've had many fewer conflicts. A relationship that started out easy and has only gotten hard because of our separation. I don't know how or if we'll work it out and that certainly contributes to making me a little blue.

When I say "blue" though, it doesn't feel quite right. Yes, I'm pulling some of my old tricks--waiting for email, hoping for some certainty--but the degree to which I've indulged myself in these bad habits is trivial compared to the past. Overall, if I think about Kent, it makes me happy because what I have to think about is the happy times we've spent together. I can get gloomy about the future but since it's a blank blur, it's hard to focus on it.

I do have this fear that the next time I hear from him, he'll tell me we're through and that I shouldn't bother making another trip to London. Yet, even if that were to be the upshot of what he said, it's not how he'd say it. He'd have a reason and he'd be sad too. He may not be as expressive as I am, but he has expressed himself. I know that my feelings are reciprocated. What I see is too much good to let the relationship go easily. I want to try…something, even if I don't know what it is.

The hard part is that we still need to discuss how we're going to face our future together. We will be going our separate ways for the immediate future but over the longer term, it would be possible to find a way to be together--if that's what we want (how can we possibly know? That's where I keep getting stuck). We don't have to decide anything long-term now but I think we do have to decide if we're going to make an effort to stay in contact and what form that effort would take.

---

What I started out to write, before I got sidetrack into a dissertation of angst, is how I've spent my day so far. Yesterday, in my morass of lethargy, I stayed in ALL DAY. Argh. I was feeling very sniffly, so I justified it as a day of rest and warding off more serious illness. Who knows if it had that effect? I managed to write two paragraphs on the novel idea. I talked to Pele. I called Kent and we had a very awkward and short conversation where none of my questions (should I come for another visit? If so, when and for how long?) were answered. Sigh.

Today, I knew I had to get out. And I had to bring the computer so I would write. I forced myself to sleep by 12:30/1am. I figured I'd wake around 9am and go for coffee at 10am. Heh. Instead, I woke and drowsed until 11:30. I took a bath and got out of the house a little before 1pm. Possibly I needed the sleep because even on my lazy days I often don't get to bed until very late and still wake early.

I went to a little local place for lunch. I would make it a regular place but it's so tiny and the tables placed so closely together that you can't spread out, making it unsuitable for computer use. But, the lunch is decent and cheap. I may go there again this week and get one of the sandwich/salad deals for six euros.

After lunch, I walked around looking for a shop that I was pretty sure sold packing boxes (in case I decide to ship some things home). I found the place and the boxes are, as expected, overpriced but not insanely so. I didn't buy anything but took note for future reference.

I walked a little further down the street, on a block I haven't been before, and found the "Telecom Institute," which is some kind of scientific college (it didn't seemed limited to telecommunications judging by the books on display, but who knows?). I wandered in and tried to find their restaurant (these kinds of eateries are usually very cheap) but failed despite following all the signs. I did see a little café at the entrance, a possible place to perch and write.

I left the school and headed over to the Monoprix. I was looking for yarn, which I found. I bought a blend of acrylic and wool (ick!) but it's for stripes on a hat and the other yarn is 100% wool, so ok, it will do. I also got some shampoo and a couple of food items.

When standing in line to pay for my food items, something happened which I've read about in other Paris blogs but that was still out of my experience: a little old lady broke in front of me. She was tiny and Asian but still qualifies, I believe. She quite unabashedly stood right in front of me and put her items on the belt. I was so astonished that I didn't argue with her. She smiled at me and said, "Merci." I reminded myself that I wasn't in a hurry and tried to remain calm and resigned. The woman behind me in line saw it all go down and was none to pleased herself but didn't get upset.

The best part was that when it came time for the old lady to pay, she didn't have enough money--she was about 70 cents short. I watched the back and forth between her and the cashier and finally, I fished a euro coin out of my pocket and handed it over. The cashier gave me the excess change and the old lady insisted that I take a half dozen small coins (two and five cent pieces) from her. She thanked me again, I said, "de rien" and that was that.

After leaving, I stopped by a good bakery and picked up a couple of cookies for later--I'll save one for tomorrow, they're quite rich.

I was determined not to go home until it got dark (or later) at 5pm. But since I had a few bags of stuff and I was still quite close to home. I risked the trip home to drop off the things. I did check my email (nothing!) but I made it out in less than ten minutes.

The next stop was the little tea shop/restaurant near my place that has a knitting night on Wednesdays. The proprietress is American and should recognize me. I was looking forward to seeing a friendly face and hearing a few kind words. I figured I could safely stay there at least until 5pm or even later if I were on a roll.

Unfortunately, it was closed. Harrumph. It's supposed to be open everyday but I can't begrudge such a small operation a day off…oh well. Instead, I went down the street and around the corner to a little restaurant that is new. Inside, there is one guy working on his computer. He served me coffee. A few tables are set and others, like the one I'm using are bare. The walls are lined with built-in bookcases full of books. Soft music (Nora Jones?) is playing. A tiny Christmas tree sits on a table next to a post in the middle of the room. The walls are painted a custard yellow and some red-hued abstract art covers one wall. It's quite pleasant.

4pm. Not sure I can squeeze out a full hour before I wear out my welcome. We'll see.

4:50pm. I wrote for a sold 40 minutes on the "novel" such as it is. What I wrote was crap and doesn't even scratch the plot. But I'll call it a start. Why not? It is a start, even if not a great one.

I'm going home now: cheese is waiting.

Grateful for: my remaining days of freedom.

Back in Paris…again

I'm so at loose ends. I had a great time in England. First, with Alicia and her family--who were gracious hosts (to both Kent and me). We played with the kids, slept late and helped a little bit with cooking a fabulous and 1970's accurate Thanksgiving meal. Delicious. I even brought a can of the jellied cranberry stuff, found at a shop in France. Kent really liked it.

What can I say? I wish I were back in England and able to spend more of my last days in Europe with Kent. But it's impossible. He can't come here (it's complicated) and since he has no fixed address (yet), I can't go there. (There's only so long I can impose the two of us on my friends.) I'll try for another visit before going back to the States but if I think about it too much, it makes me sad.

Kent and I spent a couple of days on our own in London. We walked around quite a bit despite the cold and rain. On one walk he said, "You can tell me about your writing on the wander."

I said, "My writing?" He looked at me, puzzled. "I haven't been doing any writing…except the blog."

"Only the blog?"

That's right, buddy. I talk a good game but I don't do shit. The look of surprise on his face might have touched me more than all the kind words he's ever spoken. He said, "So, we can figure something out."

And, as we walked, he proceeded to encourage me to write a crime/heist/mystery thriller partially based on an idea of his. As he talked, I chimed in with alternative plot ideas and, eventually, I was doing most of the talking, plotting the story through to the end in a way that I, an avid reader of the mystery/crime genre, would find satisfying.

Of course, I've always fancied that I would write something literary. But why? Given that I'll probably never get published, all that matters is that I write something.

Now, have I started on the idea Kent helped me with? No. But it's only been a day since I got back. If were to actually sit and put words on a page…a terrifying thought…I would feel good, very good, and I'd find out if the idea has legs.

The future is so murky right now. It's hard for me to face it. I leave Paris on December 27. Work starts a week after I get back to the States. I have little things to do (like find a cardboard box or two to pack and ship home early), but I'm floating free. I'm afraid I'll waste most of the next three weeks and spend them sitting and knitting, missing Kent, numbing myself with dvds and occasionally going to see a film. Whence the Louvre or the Rodin? What is wrong with me?

Today, I'm leaving the house for a good long walk (and a movie, not a museum). I'm leaving right now. I won't come back until it's dark. I'll buy something for supper. I'll spend an hour writing when I get home. I'll bring my notebook and write if I feel inspired. I'd do something.

Grateful for: time.

Happy Thanksgiving

It's just after 11pm. I'm all packed. My suitcase is full of gifts/food and a bit of clothing. I have to say, I hate to pack. I avoided it as long as I could but, in the end, I was good. The dishes are washed, the clean laundry is put away and my outfit for tomorrow is selected. I'm ready to go.

Unfortunately, I am not tired. I don't know how I'm going to manage to sleep tonight. I wondered why I didn't want to pack for this trip since I'm really looking forward to it…but just because I'm looking forward to it doesn't mean I don't have any nerves. I suppose it's obvious why.

This is the funny thing about going to see Kent after a couple of weeks apart--I've missed him but I've been reasonably happy on my own (certainly no worse than before he came on the scene). The time we spent together was great but it wasn't so terrible being without him. (To clarify: I would much prefer to be with him, but I wasn't dying.) But today? Boy, was I distracted thinking about our reunion.

Still, it was a good day. I met some US friends for lunch--a woman from my soccer team and her partner. We ate at a great neighborhood place. Excellent. They were planning to visit the nearby Manufacture des Gobelins, an historical and still operating tapestry factory, and I joined them. We took the tour and saw some of the weavers at work, using the old fashioned methods. Pretty interesting.

After that, I did a little food shopping and headed home where I proceeded to relax and not pack for most of the day. I cooked a simple dinner, eventually packed, knitted my socks (almost finished) and, now, I'm wondering about sleep. I always have a problem sleeping before a trip and, I'm afraid, this will be no exception.

Finally, I want to wish everyone back home a Happy Thanksgiving. I'm grateful I get to celebrate with good friends this year--even if we're shifting the actual celebration to the weekend. It still counts in my book. I'm also looking forward to introducing my funny American ways to Kent. Too bad they won't be showing football on tv.

Grateful for: turkey.

Something

While the vast majority of my time is spent basically doing nothing, it's not like I can actually spend all my time doing nothing. (Even my nothing usually means knitting, watching a movie (usually at the same time--I have two nearly complete socks that I just started on after getting back from my travels), reading blogs, reading other things, writing a little tiny bit, chatting online, washing dishes, etc.).

I am trying to make sure I take full advantage of Paris while I have the chance. I have heaps of museums left to visit but I'm a little more interested in gastronomical wonders and window-shopping. Oh, and my continued quest to be sociable.

To that end, let's see what I've been up to.

Thursday. I went to a gathering for the release of the Beaujolais Nouveau. I had to trek rather far a field to get to the meeting place in the second. It was a little out of the way bar/restaurant. It took me about half an hour to get there. I talked to a couple of people and had a tiny sip of some terrible wine (worse than the one euro stuff Kent bought on a whim).

Friday. I was lucky to catch Kent online and we had a long virtual chat in the morning. In the afternoon I trekked to a very exclusive candy store I'd read about (Denise Acabo) and got some treats. After, I went to take a look at the Galeries Lafayette. It's quite a fancy department store and actually a tourist destination--Asian folks were arriving by the busload! I couldn't imagine actually shopping there since stores of that size overwhelm me and make it impossible to decide on anything but I did enjoy the pretty, pretty lights and window displays. Afterwards, I walked to a nearby theater and went to the movies, "Body of Lies." Enjoyable enough but nothing special.

Saturday. I stayed home feeling tired most of the day. In the evening, I got myself moving and I went out to watch the All Blacks (NZ national team) whomp Wales. (Rugby, I'm talking about rugby. Blame Kent.) I only saw the second half, which means that I missed the haka (war dance, no joke) the All Blacks do to start the game. I understood almost everything going on to large amount of time spent talking about rugby with Kent.

After, I stopped for dinner at little Japanese place. Overheard English being spoken nearby and joined in the conversation and then was invited to sit with them. Nice folks. They invited me to go out with them but I was tired I had to say no. (Sitting around all day tires me out, apparently.) Two of the women, sisters, gave me a lift to the metro and we exchanged numbers.

It occurred to me that people don't really talk to you in bars in Paris. At the pub-style place where I watched the game, English speakers abounded and no one even said hello. In fact, the service was so non-existent that I didn't even order a drink. Made for an economical evening at least. Yet, at the restaurant, squeezed so close to the semi-English speaking group, it seemed natural to say something and they right away were friendly and receptive. Maybe this is just my experience but I wonder if restaurants are more likely to be meeting places in Paris that bars.

Sunday. I ventured out in the early afternoon for a sandwich but it was very cold and wet so I didn't take a longer walk. In the evening, I had dinner with landlords, their little daughter (adorable) and another friend of theirs from out of town. I really like them and we would be friends by now under other circumstances. Well, who's to say we're not friends? They even cut me a deal on the last month's rent--agreeing to apply the month's deposit I gave them towards the rent and accepting a smaller deposit for the last month instead. Because I've been such a good tenant--but it was easy, since they're very good landlords. I'll miss them!

Monday. I took a very long walk and, on my quest to see more of the commercial side of Paris I went to both BHV and Le Bon Marche. I've been to BHV before and been within spitting distance of the Le Bon Marche without realizing it.

I ate a late lunch at the BHV cafe:



And enjoyed the amazing view:


Again, I didn't buy much--picked up a couple of presents and some food--but I was impressed with the size and bustle of both places (neither had the impressive window displays of the Galeries Lafayette or Printemps). I walked between the two stores and got caught in the rain with no umbrella, but I stayed warm enough thanks to my recently completed hat.

On the walk, I stopped in Deyrolle's, a famous taxidermy shop that JenA told me about. Crazy. Of course, I didn't buy anything but they had a lot of little things on offer, like pinned butterflies, moths and beetles. Yikes. Interesting, to say the least.



I actually bought myself a nice looking steak at Le Grande Epicere (right next to Le Bon Marche) but was too tired to cook when I got home. I ate it the next night instead.

Tuesday. A quiet day because I was all walked out from Monday. I went to the movies (an oldie this time) in the afternoon, stopped for coffee (decaf because I drank too much coffee on Monday and didn't sleep well) and a cookie (not very Parisian, but oh well). I walked a little way towards home but in the end took the metro. I cooked myself a good dinner and was able to fall asleep before 1am and even sleep straight through the night. I don't know why my sleep has been so off recently but I seem to be settling out a little.

Wednesday (aka Today). I realized after talking to my landlords on Sunday that the carte de sejour (residency card) that I lost was really my permanent card. The "temporaire" meant that I had temporary residency, not that the card itself was temporary. Ach. To that end, I called yesterday and made an appointment to come in and get a new card. That was an interesting conversation since it was all in French but I managed, barely, to make myself understood, though they weren't pleased that I didn't have a photocopy of the card, the number of the card or a police report. They still gave me an appointment time.

Today, because I'll need it for my appointment, I went by my local police prefecture and filled out a little form saying I'd lost the card. After I filled out the form, the lady made a copy and gave me the original. She started talking about the American Embassy. I got very confused because I couldn't see what on earth the American Embassy had to do with anything. In the end, her co-worker chimed in and I tried to explain I already had an appointment with the appropriate French office to get the new card. Well, who knows what I'm really supposed to do. I just hope that I can get back into the country when I return from England next week!

Speaking of which, did I mention that I'm going to England again to 1) spend Thanksgiving with Alicia and family and 2) to see Kent (who is coming to Alicia's)? (Um, not necessarily in that order, but the plan to spend Thanksgiving with Alicia is long-standing.) Well, I am. I leave on Friday (missing actual Thanksgiving--we'll celebrate on the weekend) and come back to Paris on Wednesday.

Now, I have to do some laundry and go meet the English-speaking (hooray!) knitting group later on this evening.

Grateful for: exploration.

It's not you...no, wait, it is you

I have this cheerful post started about Paris and all the chocolate and pastries I'm searching out and my attempts to make sure I see and eat all the good things here before I leave…and the nice French people I met while I was out having dinner alone last night.

I'd like to write about that, but, instead, I have to ask, why does my mother hate me?

Tonight, I called her. I called her about a week ago, when I got back from my adventure with Kent. She'd sent at least one cryptic email while I was abroad and I knew, just from the tone, that she was not pleased with me. The last real conversation we'd had was one where she was angry with me for not staying in touch. So, I thought, calling her in a fairly timely fashion would please her. Plus, I was making the effort…that's good, right?

Wrong. As soon as she answered the phone, I could tell something was off. She wasn't happy that I called. Maybe she's just not happy at all right now, that's always a possibility with her. I asked what was going on, she told me a little. She seemed to perk up a bit. She asked me about Kent. When I answered, she got silent and said, "I don't understand. Let's talk about something else."

I said, "What don't you understand? Maybe I can explain it."

"No. It's not that. No."

"What's the problem?" I said. "Is there a problem?"

She said, "You know, my world doesn't revolve around you."

"I don't think that. I started the conversation asking about you, I hope you noticed. I could tell right away there was a problem. [Aside, I don't know how much of her problem with me has to do with Kent. Likely very little since she's said things like this to me many times and it's not man-related.] Maybe you can tell me what's wrong?"

Mom said, "It's that…I don't know if I want to do this."

"Do what?"

Apparently, the answer to that is to have a relationship with me. Oy vey. How many times are we going to go down this road? I asked what she wanted. She said someone who would be civil to her and sincerely wanted to spend time with her. I took offense at that and then she gave one example of when I "yelled and screamed" when we last saw each other (a complete exaggeration, but I will admit I lost my temper). The problem is that I was "out of control" a few (??) times. I felt blindsided by this because she was recalling an incident from our trip to Paris together back in April.

You know, if she had a problem with something I did back in April, it would have been nice if she'd talked to me about it then. I know I apologized at the time and I'm even pretty sure we discussed it. I'm not inclined to apologize anymore. Enough.

I finally said, "You're over involved and I can't do it this way anymore."

She agreed but added, "It's a two sided thing."

I said, "I don't see how your over involvement is my doing."

"Maybe you're encouraging it. Maybe it's something you want."

I said I certainly wasn't encouraging it and that I knew I didn't want it. I was getting really angry by then (no yelling or screaming, though!) and I said, "You know, you do win for the number of times of being out of control in this relationship, that's for sure."

She started to say something else but I knew I would start yelling if I stayed on the phone any longer, so I said, "I have to go now" and hung up. Ah, good, more reason for her to hate me, decide to stop having a relationship with me and evidence that I'm out of control. Awesome.

I tried to call Amanda, Pele and Audrey. No one answered--people have lives. I'm very sad now but maybe I should be happy? Every time I try to please her, it fails. It backfires. It's sad because the last conversation we had was friendly and good and I was hoping we were back on an even keel. I'm tired of her moodiness and how she's always taking it out on me. How she demands that I stay in touch because she's worried about me but then isn't pleased when I make an effort. I wonder, is she depressed? Am I missing something? Have I been that bad? Is it the boyfriend thing? Dammit. I was a little lonely today and hoping for a nice chat with my mother. Where is she when I need her?

Grateful for: separation.