animal arithmetic

4 Aug

It is bizarre being home with my sister and dog and parents; I keep expecting to walk out the front door into Rue Vavin but instead I’m greeted with warm air and grass. It’s a tad disarming. I need to get used to being home soon, else I may go a little more nuts.
Well! What did I do today? I tried to learn Ready, Able and Blue Ridge Mountains, did a pretty good job but I need to listen to the songs more often before I can really play them well. I baked meringues! They are delicious. I also was going to draw but then my dad called me to dinner and I lost all inspiration. Bummmmerrrrrr.
Mehhh, I am missing the usual amount of cerebral stimulation that France gave: trying to find our way around the Metro, walking to Maille and commenting on the thousands of hipsters flocking to Collette, falling asleep under the trees at the Champs du Mars. I never felt so at home as I did in Paris, surrounded by anonymity and embracing it myself. It’s different from New York: not as stifling. You don’t feel as if you’re in a traditional city, it’s more intimate, more down-to-earth, more spiritual as well (and yes, that kind of contradicts the down-to-earth aspect). There is no perceptible rush to get where you’re going. Businessmen take a few hours out of their day to take off their suit jackets and play a few rounds of pettanque in the Luxembourg Gardens. The pace of life is slower.
New York, on the other hand, is all about speed and progress: getting from Point A to Point B, whether your points are actual places or just your life’s goals. I cannot deal with that way of life; thusly, you’ll never see me living in New York. Perhaps another city. One without the pressure of consumerism in every step and waking moment.

“Peach light,” he wrote, and I wondered why that was his liefmotif. And then I wondered: what was mine?

Will write later.


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