I am awkwardly sprinting,
then opening the door and casually (haggard and out of breath) sauntering,
then sheepishly tiptoeing
back to my blog.
[something I did just an hour ago into choir, which I was late to because I was, incidentally, preoccupied with blogging].
I get it, OKAY? I'm a dastardly villain when it comes to consistency. But I want to be better! I am COMMITTED to being better. This commitment is not binding and means absolutely nothing because no one cares whether I blog or not, and in the long run it makes no difference because we're all going to die anyway.
The good news is: Paris.
I'm leaving in one month from today.
(Bonjour, City of Lights! Comment allez-vous, City of Love? Hello there, City of my Freaking Dreams!)
And... (drum roll, please) I have a certain requirement of doing a certain activity that requires words, pictures, the internet, and my unfailing wit and odd duck-ish sort of charm-like quality. This activity is often referred to as blogging.
First assignment (these classes are really quite rigorous, you see) involves a post on something you want to do in Paris, which you will later (in Paris) follow up on after you've done it. A "before" and "after" if you will.
And here's mine:
[Disclaimer: I probably adore the 1954 version just a smidgen more, because timeless Audrey is so very radiant and I like the "Yes, We Have No Bananas" song. But the following tidbit references the 1995 version, featuring the tolerably radiant Julia Ormond. Okay. Fine. She's gorgeous. Whatever.]
But the point is, a young, ordinary chauffure's daughter with a bad case of unrequited love and a big ponytail takes off to Paris to crop her locks, fall in love with "La Vie en Rose," grow up a bit, and learn to properly crack an "oeuf" at Le Cordon Bleu.
She goes to find herself. (And get over David [which she doesn't. Not until later, anyway, after Linus takes her to his cottage in Martha's Vineyard].)
So, the point really is: Do you remember this scene between Sabrina and Linus?
Sabrina: I used to walk everywhere in Paris. I used to walk from Montmartre down into the center of the town. Along the Seine there is a 4-mile wall that goes from Isle Saint Germain to the Pont de Bercy. Takes you past all the bridges of Paris, 23 of them. Then you find one you love and you go there every day with your coffee and your journal, and you listen to the river.
And so, as this ordinary, soon to be super-senior co-ed with a bad case of wanderlust and a big pony tail takes of to Paris to find herself, she plans to put this same practice into practice. That is, to find a bridge and go there often with her [insert delicious treat besides coffee here] and her journal and listen to the river.
Linus : What does it tell you?Sabrina : That's between me and the river.
And perhaps, later, I'll even tell you what it tells her.
In case you don't believe me, the blog is here.Remember how it's Spring?