I Say “Fuck You”

by

To the fear.

Fuck you twice.

The two gigs I had land in my lap yesterday disappeared.

I actually was a little relieved, I had set my alarm clock for 6 a.m. to get ready for tomorrow.  I can now reset that to a lovely 9:30 a.m.

A much more respectable hour for my brain to function and co-habitate with the world.

Really, the world should be breathing a sigh of relief, I am not a nice monkey when sleep deprived.  And I would have been sleep deprived, it is hard to switch gears to an early morning wake up, I of course had planned on going to bed by 10 pm, but my brain would have been wide awake tap dancing.

This is better.

Whatever is going to happen tomorrow is better.

Maybe I will make more money and not have to work 12 hours to get it.

Maybe I will have lunch with the man of my dreams.

Maybe I will meet a new friend for coffee.

The latter seems to me the best bet.

I say, throw caution to the wind.

So what if rent is due and I don’t have it? I still have three days before it is due.

Rent is paid for today.

I have 65 Euro in my wallet.

I can buy a book.

I can have a coffee.

I can take a walk.

I can write.

I looked down at my hand today in wonderment.

Wondering mostly where the hell the bruise on my ring finger came from.  One solitary bruise right on the knuckle.  I cannot remember knocking it on anything, and it is tender.

Upon examining my hands I realized that not only do I have a callous from my pen on my middle finger, which I have always sort of had, but I also have an actual indentation on my finger with another smooth callous where the pen rests.

I write that much, that it is changing the shape of my hands.

Wonderous.

Also wonderous, bicycling.

Bless you Paris for giving me a free pass on the rain this week.

The whole week, albeit greatly warmer than last week, is supposed to be rainy.

Not today.

I got up today, my bike calling all sexy like from the corner, hey, lady, yeah, you, wanna go for a ride?

Yes please.

Possible I got the bruise from riding it, but I cannot imagine how.

Although riding along some of the cobblestones I did think I was going to bruise my brain from all the bumping up and down.  It was literally like being shook, I could not see straight.

Today was my first day out on my bicycle that was not a Sunday.

I could gloss this over, but it made me realize that I am not afraid of the traffic conditions any longer.  Which means I am not afraid of getting lost on my bike any longer and I can pay attention to the traffic instead of whether I should take a left or right.

Things that I find surreal.

Surreal, but wonderful.

Listening to St. Germain in my headphones while riding the Metro in Paris.

And riding my fixed gear across the Champs Elysees.

What the fuck am I doing here?

Riding my bike through the streets of Paris.

Ha.

Here’s to doing what you are afraid of.

Nobody said it would be easy, and it sure as fuck is not, but it is not quite as hard as it was, it is not quite as uncomfortable, and I am getting into it.

Into the moment, mainly, where there is nothing wrong and it is sunny, momentarily, it did not last much past the bike ride to and fro from Avenue George V, and I am on my bike.

My glittery sparkle pony.

I am on the Metro with my headphones on listening to French house music, in France.

I am happy.

I am a writer.

I have an indent in my finger to prove it, in case you were wondering.

I am an artist, who says let me get inspired.

I don’t have a job to go to tomorrow.

Although, I do have a job to do.

After I put in my time there, I have the entire day free.

It may well be a rainy day.

Perhaps a walk.

Paris, it ain’t a bad place to walk around.

I could go grab a book!

Oh.

Yes, there is that.

In fact, I could go to Mister George V tomorrow and hit a little fellowship, then walk along the Left Bank to Shakespeare and Company.

Or.

I could go explore another book shop.

I know there are other English language shops in the city.

I could wake up and say, hey, Paris, what do you want to do today?

I don’t have to work, want to play hooky?

I refuse to believe that I will not be taken care of, the money I would have made over the next few days will come from somewhere else.

I have money in my pocket now.

I have love in my heart.

I have Paris at my doorstep.

Literally.

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