This promises to be my shortest blog post of this trip. We hardly did a thing. Jessica decided that she couldn’t possibly leave the apartment as her toe was oozing infections and she had rashes on her nether regions. I don’t know why she feels the need to share such things, but share she did. I made a face of disgust and sat in the window for some time, glowering at a tourist group right beneath our window. I think they were scared. I wanted to throw bread at them, I don’t know why, but it seemed like a good idea. I didn’t. I regret this.
Bored of sitting in the window, I worked on a blog post and put on a loud Lady Gaga concert for the neighbors. They enjoyed it. I don’t doubt that they wonder why I’m not yet opening for Gaga on tour. I don’t have the answer for them as I’m confused about it myself.
I decided that I had to do something–anything–it was a gorgeous day, almost too hot, but really just right. So, I got myself ready to go and intended to head off to the Louvre to do some writing, but as I made my way towards the Metro, the very thought seemed exhausting, so instead I just made my way to a very tiny park that I had come across on a walk and plunked myself down on a bench. I whipped my notebook out and wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote for hours. I haven’t had a good brain vomit like that in weeks, so it was very satisfying. I think that I could have very well finished up the whole book right there, but the bench wasn’t tremendously comfortable, so I suppose I will finish my writing on the plane ride home. I’ve got eight hours to kill–maybe more.
On the walk back to the apartment I came across a photographer with a huge camera. I dislike people who carry around big cameras. For the most part, I don’t think people know how to use these devices and buy them just for show. I felt that he was one of those people, so I amused myself by following him for a while and taking a picture of whatever he was taking a picture of. He took a picture of everything. Mine are probably better.
I popped in at Miss Manon for a baguette and a piece of opera cake.
My old woman wasn’t there, so I was annoyed. Then I stopped by Monoprix to buy myself a plate to cheer myself up. Nothing makes me happier than a nice dish.
On the walk back to the apartment, I walked right by a shop that I had never noticed called Les Neiges d’Antan, which is a very quiet antique shop. It had the most gorgeous set of Art Deco plates and I think I might have to have them. I wonder how much they are, though, there are prices on nothing.
I stayed home for the rest of the day typing and nibbling on things. It was unexciting, but not altogether unpleasant.