I Read Your Blog


Oh shit.

I think that is what I said.

Followed on its heels by the words, that I managed to choke back, “I’m so sorry.”

I stifled those.

Why I need to apologize for writing what I write is rather funny to me.

I actually, often, forget that people read these.

He said it was long.

Um, yeah.  They are sort of.

I tried to not ask what he read, everything flashed through my eyes from poop nanny entries to I slept with that guy from that place to the club I was at when I whipped off my bra to escapades at Burning Man.

It was like I had been caught with my pants down.

Damn Gina.

Was I wearing my black lace panties or the old faded pink ones?


I couldn’t very well ask him which ones he read.

I just let it go.

It is nice to hear that people read it.

Especially when they are cute.

He’s cute.

Young, I think, but cute.

Love the accent.


Of course, just about everybody here as an accent.  His is Irish.  He also reads.

He read my blog.

I love me a reader.

In fact, we had an ice breaker sort of conversation about books last Sunday.  I have a book I just finished to loan him and he has an article in a literary review from London, I believe, on Will Self.

I may have some one to swap books with.

That is exciting.

Who cares what panties I have on anyhow.

They are all cute.

My blog is my blog but it is not me.

Sometimes it is, I can hear my voice, I can hear the voice of the blog.

Just like my book is me, but not me.  As is the new piece I am working on, which though fictional has a load of autobiographical things in it.  I am drawing from my experiences and that is what a writer must do.

And read.

Which, I shot myself in the foot on this one, sucks at the moment as I have nothing to read. I left my book at the baby sitting gig last night.  I’ll be headed back next Saturday and will get it then, but I don’t see myself not having a book to read for the next week.


I will have to rectify that.

I have plans to meet a friend at Shakespeare and Company on Friday afternoon for a get together.  She is going to read my book and we are going to talk writing.  And hopefully set up a time to write together.

I find that having a writing group is helpful too.

Anything to further the craft.

Got to do it.

I want to get a book before Friday though, as well.  This bears some thinking over.  My schedule just got tight for the next few days so I am not sure that I will be able to squeeze something in.

Of course, I do have a book a friend gave me that is in French, but that is more like studying at this moment than actual reading for pleasure, reading to let the craft of another’s words sink into my skin and settle and drift like the spats of snow in the corners building up against one another to tumble back toward my pen at the appropriate time.

I do not plagiarise.

But I take.

I steal.

I borrow, beg, and broker.

That is mine, this here, I will take that.

His eyes, blue, there is something about Irish/English blue eyes that take me.  Ironically blue sky eyes remind me of not only Paris, the sky here peeking through the clouds, but also of Wisconsin.

I am a sucker for blue eyes.

And he has freckles.


I better get on task.

What else?

Oh, yes, working.

Like, putting food on the table working, is actually happening quite a bit this week.  I have four shifts.

Two of which are going to be long ones, but as it’s right at the end of the month, rent is almost due, I need to have the cash.

The dad called me today, his father was struck ill quite suddenly, and he has to go back to Ireland the day after tomorrow.  He asked me to work 8a.m. to 8 p.m. Tuesday and Wednesday and I am helping them out tomorrow for four hours.  That is a substantial amount of hours to do in the next few days.

And a decent amount of Euro.

I will be able to hand some rent money, not the full month, but at least a weeks worth of February, to the room-mate.  I will have the money to upgrade my Navigo pass for the Metro for another month, they check it, it is well worth having it loaded.   I do not want the 40 Euro ticket.

And I have had it checked.

I will also have a Saturday gig back in the 7th and then I will be starting my new gig next Wednesday in Courbevoie.

I had another interview today and it went really well.

So well, the little girl got up on her mother’s lap, whispered in her ear, and asked if I could stay and play, ‘I was funny,’ she liked me.

I like her too.

The house was the first house were I felt an immediate response to something familiar, art.  They had art everywhere.  The little girls art, and their own, photographs, and books, loads and loads of books.

They want me to speak only English and I will happily oblige.

They want me as long as they can get me and I could feel their relief, mom trusts me, I could tell, that feels really nice, to be trusted.

They have even asked if I would be available in March for the girls vacation time, they may want me to go on vacance with them.

Sure thing.

The pay is also pretty darn good.

Four times a month I will go out to the last Metro stop on Line One, La Grande Arch, at La Defense, and it will be almost my rent.  Those Wednesdays and a scattering of other gigs, and I will have the money to pay rent, eat, and sit in cafes in write.

Which is all I really need.

Here, in Paris.

And maybe a date with a blue eyed boy.

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