anxious about: banks & moving, roommates & bad dreams
i have been in an irrefutable wrinkled linen mood. today, the eiffel tower was shrouded in fog & my eyelids were swollen, my mouth full of easy vowels. i cried on the bus & the old man - in a cap like my grandpa wore - handed me two folded tissues & said "bon courage, ma belle."
my tinny tears-for-nothing get lost over the cellphone as it loses itself in the many empty spaces between us; i am not sure whether the emptiness is my notoriously silent father or the poor reception. i cry, he yells at me, my mother tells me afterwards he is under a lot of stress. he writes me an email saying that i am his hero, & i think that someone must be dying.
when i told the neighbours i didn't think i could live with them, their faces fell before they had the chance to say "ah bon, c'est pas grave." i am making lists of inspiring things & thinking a lot about living & where to do it. i finished sophie dahl's new book & am currently balancing seven others: swann's way, t.s. eliot poems, varieties of disturbance by lydia davis, j.m. coetzee's "diary of a bad year," the cyborg manifesto, the laugh of the medusa, & Izis' paris par poetes.
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