Feeling the Love

by

I just came in.

I just came in and I tore open the package that was waiting for me.

I was punching in the door code to the hall entrance and it was though a little beep went off in my head, a little homing device was suddenly activated.  Something is here, what is it?

Where is it?

I checked the mail box, empty.

Wait, what is that?

Aha.

In the same box that I got my first package from the lover, another package, there, sitting in the bottom box, just a little too plump to fit in my mail box.

A gift.

Oh, my heart.

Blown open again.

I got photographs of me and the Bug, look I have blue hair! a box of tea, a Christmas card, and a little something, something.

Heh.

I wasn’t going to share, but I feel I must; I also got a bottle of my favorite lube–Liquid Silk–so unlike what I procured here early in my stay (meaning it doesn’t smell like European men on poppers and remorse) to help stave off the homesick.  Irony of irony, my room-mate made his reappearance today.  So, I won’t be breaking it out right away, but I know it is there.  Happily awaiting a private moment.

Big smile on my face.

Big.

God, I have good friends.

The tea was the kicker though, my favorite tea, I actually yelped out loud when I saw it.

Such a small little comfort and I am drinking a hot cup of it right now, Celestial Seasonings Bengal Spice tea.  I put the kettle on and ripped open the package.  The warm cinnamon spice smell drifted out and instantly I felt warm and cared for and snuggled.

The best cold February treat ever, ever.

Aside from a warm body to snuggle, or share the new bottle of lube with.

Ha.

I also was given a pound of Philz Coffee–Ambrosia of the Gods–this week from another San Francisco friend who is visiting.  Unfortunately it is in bean form and I do not have a grinder.  I am debating breaking down and buying one, but I am going to prowl about my Paris peeps for a few days and see if anyone has a grinder.

Fresh beans here are a rarity.

I believe I have only seen one store so far that actually had whole beans displayed.  They certainly do not have it like it is in SF, where I could get really picky if I wanted to.

“Oh, that was roasted last week, have anything fresher?”

And there usually was.

Sometimes it had been roasted that very day.

Spoiled.

I wonder if I can find a little hand grinder at a specialty store.  I will poke around, I have not given it a real hard look yet.

Adding on to the loot that I have received this week–two, count them two boxes of Pilot Gel 2 black ink pens.

PENS.

Good pens!

PENS!

I have my writing cut out for me.

My room-mate came back from San Francisco laden with some other awesome things as well.  He had dropped me a message asking if I wanted anything and I had asked for the tea and a certain kind of toothbrush.

He forgot the toothbrush and the tea and I did not give a fuck as soon as he said I got you pens.  I replied and said don’t worry about anything else.

I had no idea that he would get me two boxes plus the five solo ones he found at Flax.

I have, hold your breath, 29 new black gel pens.

I am peeing my pants with excitement.

Which is good, seeing as how I need to make room for more tea.

God damn it tastes good.

The presents continue.

I got books.

And notebooks.

Where to start?

Barnaby got together with Tanya.

Tanya has my few boxes of things, bits and pieces of my life, flotsam and jetsam, four boxes total, of photographs, art work, some personal effects, and my journals and the original rough drafts of Baby Girl, The Iowa Waltz, and Fatherless Madison (title still a work in progress, maybe I should just call it Madison.  DUH.  Why did that take years to figure out? Fuck. Madison. That is it.).

Barnaby picked up my rough drafts.  Since I finished Baby Girl, finally almost six and a half-years later, I am ready to work on the next piece and take it into second draft form.  I now have two manuscripts to work on.

And books.

Tanya sent me books!

My love, thank you so much.

I really feel like a writer at the moment, as I write my blog, surrounded by photographs of darling people I adore, with stacks of notebooks and boxes of pens and a little tower of books to read.

Living, really living the dream.

Writing in Paris.

Matters not that I lost both the baby sitting gigs I was supposed to have next week.

My brain was so unaffected.

I think it was because I got up earlier than it was expecting, 7 a.m., beating my disease way to the punch, I had coffee and was dressed before it had even stirred, to head out to Courbevoie and hang out with my Wednesday girl.

Who will be on vacation next week and she and the parents decided to go away.  They had originally planned to be here and I was going to have extra work.  Now they are not and I have none.

But, really, I have loads of work.

I have tons of reading to do.

I have to read my rough drafts and then prepare to take them into second drafts.

I am a little nervous, but I know how to do this.

I have had the practice now of going to the cafe and sitting and doing the editing work on Baby Girl.  There will be plenty of re-writing to do, I am sure, and of course, just getting the work out of my notebooks and into a document on my computer.

When I got the news that I no longer had the gigs I went right to a place of complete calm.

God must have something amazing happening for me next week.  My whole week has been cleared for adventure.  I can feel it coming.

It may just be the adventure of sitting in my favorite spot at Odette & Aime and reading and writing my heart the fuck out.

I am down for that.

Barnaby also picked me up a book that I had requested.  Yes, finally, I am now in possession of  Stephen King’s “On Writing”.

I am ready.

Bring it.

I began reading it today on my Metro ride over to 65 Quai D’Orsay.

I want to have it knocked off by this Saturday and I will follow all his suggestions.

I am a suggestion monster right now, you got one, I’ll take it.

I’ll take it with a hot cup of my favorite tea, I’ll use a new pen to write it down, and when I get tired of trying something new and scary, I’ll pause for a moment and read something wonderful to right (write) my world again.

I am loved.

I am loveable.

I am worthy of love.

Thank you.

Thank you my friends, I could not be doing any of this without your continued love and support.  I am not sure what I did to deserve it, but I am not going to turn it down.

No, in fact, I am going to go to town on it and drink up another cup of love right now.

In Paris.

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