Feeling Better

by

Is not full steam ahead.

I forget this sometimes.

I also shirk at the idea of “wasting time”.

God damn it, Martines, don’t you know you have shit to get done, get your butt out of bed and move.

I got up at 12:42p.m.

I slept in and I don’t have much regret over it, I knew I needed to rest, I spent the entire day in bed the day prior with my crazy sick thoughts and sore throat, so yes, rest, when you are sick, it is necessary.

I felt so much better that once I finished up my morning routine, of which I added an extra page of writing–couple pages of notes on another short story, they are piling up.  I will have to write them out tomorrow, they need to get out of my head, they are knocking around with impatience to get out–that I decided to go for a long walk.

Make up for the lack of movement I had yesterday.

I thought I may also discover a market in the near by vicinity.  I know that there has to be one around here somewhere other than the one around Square D’Anvers, which only happens on Friday, and though I thought about leaving the house yesterday to go to it, I could hardly get out the door to take out the trash let alone traverse the five-minute walk up the hill to the market.

I made up for that today by going for an hour-long walk.  Of course, I pushed it a little, just one block more before you have to turn around.

I was also on a bit of a time-table as I had to make an appearance tonight at my first Christmas party in Paris.

Since I had not gotten out the door until 2pm I felt obliged to make the rounds of the neighborhood.

I did not find the market of which I searched so I just popped into the supermarche on the corner, Carrefour.  I got toothpaste and a few staples, some envelopes and a couple of pens.

I am going through pens like water.  I have not found a good pen yet to replace the ones that I brought with me from San Francisco.  Not that these are horribly special pens, they are not, just generic roller pens I got a Walgreens, but they do the trick, ink flows well and they are scratchy, plus the pen sits well in my hand.

Generic roller ball pens from Walgreens and Bengal Spice Tea from Celestial Seasons.

These are the two “American” things I miss most so far.

I have yet to find an adequate replacement for either.

I made lunch at the apartment and tidied up.

By the time I was done I was ready for a nap.

I seriously could have crawled right back into bed.  Where the hell did all my sass go?

Oh yeah, I was sick yesterday.  I am still sick, I am sick as I write this, better yes, but full on healthy, nope.  I can feel it in my nose and in my energy level.

Thank God I did not push myself yesterday and took it easy, or I would be a basket case today and I would not have gone to the party and I would not have had the energy to get across the Pont Alma to the church, where I was expected and I had said I would help out.

I made myself a second bowl of cafe au lait and instead of getting back under the covers I put on some glitter, I mean, it is a holiday party, and I got my swagger on.

Tiny swagger.

Meager swagger.

But it got me out the door and into the bluster of a cold Paris evening.

It was lovely.

I am so glad I went.

There was good music and good food, although I actually did not partake much of that, not a whole lot on a holiday menu that works well for the way I nourish myself.

The nourishment comes from the fellowship and the new friends I am making.  I have a place to be on Christmas day, and friends who want to know what I am doing and where I will be.

I also have a friend from San Francisco who moved to London for work that will be coming over for a few days.  Funny that.  Barnaby will be headed to London for Christmas and my friend will be coming over here.

Worked out perfectly and I won’t be alone my first Christmas in Paris.

Not that I believe, except when I am sick and stupid in the head, that I am ever really alone.

The hall at the church was warm and bright and full of candles and a tree and the smells of turkey, divine.

I danced.

I laughed.

I met new people.

The man sitting next to me in his 80s told me wonderful stories.

I got up from the table to get a little ‘dessert’ a handful of grapes and a tangerine and a cup of coffee, and ended up having an incredibly random and wonderful conversation with a woman who is here working on her Masters and also happens to be a writer.

A published writer.

A ghostwriter.

And some one who does “morning pages” just like me.

We chatted about writing for some time, exchanged information, and she said she would send me a list of agents who will accept cold queries on works.

She also said that I probably do need an agent to look over the book, a fresh set of eyes.

I know she is entirely correct in that.  The book that I am editing may not be the book that ends up being published, although it will resemble it.  The story remains the same, it is how it will be presented that may change.

I also told her about the shorts I have been writing.

It felt positive and affirming.

She, ironic, got her memoir published in Berkeley at Soft Skull, who also published Michael Doughty’s memoir, a place I looked into just prior to leaving San Francisco.

Funny.

The Universe is funny.

But sometimes you have to go 3,000 miles away from home to discover what you need to do next, and if it meant being at the Christmas party at the American Church in Paris, then so be it.

I am so lucky to be here.

And I am grateful to be getting over this cold.  I will not push myself too hard tomorrow either.

Even though I really want to go for a bike ride.

Maybe I’ll push a tiny bit.

Just a little bit.

I can always take a nap later.

Hahahahahahaha.

Nap.

Fuck, I amuse myself.

I will be writing tomorrow.  A lot.  That is where the push will be.  The bike ride will clear the head, exercise is always good for me, then the writing.  Then maybe an early night.

I hear God laughing at my plans already.

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