Posts Tagged ‘agency’

Stocked Up

March 30, 2020

Today I did the grocery shopping.

I mean.

I really did the grocery shopping.

REALLY, REALLY, REALLY.

I have more food in my house than I think I ever have had in my life.

Of course, I have never experienced being in a pandemic before, so there’s that.

I don’t connect much to the news, frankly it’s just a terror cycle, and I find that when I need to know something I find it out, or it gets to me via the grapevine.

Also.

That my agency has been sending me, really, all the information that I could really possibly digest and use.

But I got a little news from someone I work with who works with Kaiser and it was enough to get me thinking it’s time to stock up.

So.

Today I shopped.

I had not set out to be on a great grocery scavenger hunt.

It just sort of happened.

I got up at 8 a.m., trying to stay on a schedule, took a nice shower, got dressed, did my morning readings and prayers and made myself a nice breakfast.

Typical breakfast, oatmeal w/an apple and some blueberries.

Unsweetened vanilla almond milk latte.

Check the emails, look at school stuff, sort of, and not do anything about it.

More on that later.

Eat my oatmeal, drink my latte, write three pages long hand and then do hair and makeup.

Yeah.

I know.

Shelter in plance, blah, blah, blah.

Doing my hair and make up feels good.

And it’s nice to do it for myself, I’m not doing it for others, although I sense that I do model for people a nice way to take care of themselves.

I am also on zoom meetings every day of the week.

Today was the least amount of online time that I have had, only an hour and a few minutes.

The rest of the week I am on Zoom and Doxy and VSE and FaceTime a lot.

I mean.

A lot.

I am grateful, don’t get me wrong, but it can be a little overwhelming.

That being said, I do like to look nice for those too.

Yesterday someone mentioned my red lipstick.

Well.

Red lipstick makes me happy and I had bought this particular lipstick in Paris, so I always think of Paris when I put it on and that immediately cheers me up.

I mean, Paris, hello.

Anyway.

I also made lots of phone calls to make up for the lack of online video in my life, heh.

Most of my phone time was while I did laundry.

I don’t have laundry at my house and I want to rectify that as soon as this passes, I am going to move out.  I know the rents will drop and I will be able to find something better than where I am now, for hopefully less than what I pay now.

$2250 a month for a studio with no laundry on site, plus utilities.

It’s big for San Francisco standards, but I do find it ludicrous at times to be paying that much.

However.

I am in San Francisco.

Even on a lock down, it’s still San Francisco.

Oh.

Side bar.

The beach is now closed.

The city put up barricade fences to block off the parking lot from Fulton to Balboa Street.

I was very happy to see that.

The amount of traffic in the neighborhood declined greatly and it was nice to see the beach without crowds of people.

I felt a bit safer in the neighborhood.

Anyway.

Laundry at the mat up the street, Sparkle Laundry, the owner, Wilson, is awesome and the facilities are pretty clean.

But they are busy.

And I had no desire to hang out in the mat.

There was little extra space.

I mimicked what appeared to be what most people were doing, put the laundry in and leave the mat.  Most of the machines were full but very few people were actually in the laundry.

I did the same and sat in my car and caught up with a friend.

When the timer on my phone went off I hopped out, put my laundry in a dryer and headed to the grocery store.

The SafeWay was busy and the there was a long line (which actually made me feel a bit better, they have started protocols for shopping that were not in place the last few times I went), a line too long for me to stand in.

So I drove across the park and headed over to the Sunset side of the park.

And.

Walked right in to the little co-op market, Other Avenues, that I used to go to all the time when I lived in the Outer Sunset.

It was sweet to be in the store again and I made some impulse buys, like stickers and a pretty little wood serving tray set, who the hell am I going to be entertaining I thought later, but they were so pretty and sweet, they made me happy, and being happy was a small price to pay for me being the only person who will see them for awhile.

I also stocked up on my favorite candles and some bulk oatmeal.

I ran all the groceries home, then back to the laundry mat and on back home.

Scrub, scrub, scrub my hands and unload everything.

Two hour long phone calls and lunch and the friend who wanted to go for a beach walk canceled so I found myself with extra time and decided I would actually do a little more shopping.

I had and have the feeling that the next two weeks, especially, will be a time to hunker down.

It may just be that I am hunkering down as I have the next round of drafts to turn in for my PhD required courses, but I sense I am going to want to stay in as much as possible.

It feels a bit intense out there.

It could also be that I had to find back up emergency therapists to cover my clientele should I get sick, an agency directive that I dealt with this week, that had me thinking this, but I do feel that it might get hot for a bit and I would rather be prepared then have to go out for anything.

So Whole Foods and SafeWay.

And both times I got totally lucky, no line.

And both times when I left each store, huge lines.

I shopped super smart and got things that I can stretch and make into soup and all the things that I really like for breakfast and lunch and nice dinners.

I couldn’t find toilet paper anywhere, but I did score two boxes of tissues and if worst comes to worse, tissues are going to be just fine.

I also stopped at the gas station and made sure I have a full tank of gas, even though I won’t be driving anywhere soon.

I’m shopped out frankly, and it’s been a long day of running errands and getting myself set up for the week.

But set up I am.

I may disappear for a bit, but it’s not because I’m sick.

It’s because I have a sick amount of homework to deal with.

So.

Stay healthy and take gentle care.

You have my love and my thoughts.

Now as always.

Ground Hog’s Day

March 21, 2020

I’m beginning to not know what day of the week it is.

That is a little surreal for me.

I am still sticking to a type of scheduled and since I have had group supervision and individual supervision the last two mornings, I’ve actually been setting alarms to get up.

Which reminds me, I need to do that for tomorrow since I have a video session in the morning with a client.

I sense tomorrow and Sunday are going to be the weird days for me.

I had supervision, an online meeting, and two clients today.

Plus a long phone call with a dear friend from my Master’s program and a long walk through the park.

I was actually a little upset today on my walk.

The beach was busy!

I mean, I sort of get it when it’s a nice day and the surf is good, but people, we got a shelter in place happening and further admonishment from the governor to hunker down.

I was surprised to see so many people and so many groups!

I had to take my judgmental self away from the beach.

It was too busy with people and the parking lot at the Balboa side of Ocean Beach was packed!

I headed instead to Golden Gate and hit the horse paths.

There’s horseback riding paths that criss cross the park and they are not nearly as trod as the regular walking paths.

I didn’t see a person and when I did pop out of the park on the Fulton Street side to head back to my house, I graciously gave everyone a wide berth or crossed the street to not make contact.

And.

Even with that decent amount of activity I felt it begin to creep in, the malaise of being confined to my own space.

And I really love my space.

So.

I had a mid-afternoon dance party and I did some meditation afterward.

That felt better.

But it is beginning to all blur together.

I had zero, and I mean like none at all, motivation to do school work.

I know I will have to this weekend and it will help break things up to focus on papers and drafts and getting work in.

Which also reminds me, where the hell is the draft I turned in last week?  I need to get it back so I can make revisions and implement changes that the professor wants.

Tomorrow all I have is one client.

I did make plans to meet a friend on the other side of the park to go walk her dog on the beach.

Her side of Ocean Beach on the Outer Sunset side, won’t be as busy as my side on the Outer Richmond side as my side has parking and a lot of surfers hit the break out here.

No break on the Judah Street side in the Outer Sunset the next nearest break is Noriega, so there won’t be cars and surfers and big families playing soccer (that’s what got me, a big group of I’m assuming family, playing soccer, there were just too many folks too close) and she and I can walk apart and let her dog frolic in the waves.

I have connected so much to the neighborhood this week, I am grateful for that.

I have taken long walks every day in the afternoon either before or after lunch and I have seen things and walked parts of the park that I have only driven past.

That has been lovely.

I also know that I am very lucky to be so close to such a large park too.  It is big enough to give wide space to others when I come across them.

I am also going through parts that aren’t often used, like the backside of the archery field or the horse paths.

I figure I will also do a longer hike at some point and really explore Sutro Baths and Land’s End.

If we are not under martial law at that point.

I keep hearing rumors about that, but I’m trying to stay out of the rumor mill, it does not help me keep my equilibrium and that has to stay in place.  I have clients to support and therapy to do.

I have also given up the office I just started subletting a few months ago.

I only use it one day a week and the woman who is my individual supervisor and my landlord has given me more access to the main office I am in.

I now have access to it in a full time capacity.

So I called the woman I sublet from and told her I had to give it up and I gave notice.

I will still have to pay rent on it for this month and I think also next month and possibly the month after.

If we are able to go back to work in our offices I may use it a touch more, but I doubt that is going to happen.

My agency is preparing for three to six months of this strangeness.

Most of us have the feeling that we won’t be going back on April 7th when the three weeks of shelter in place is up.

I’m preparing myself mentally for a longer haul.

Of course I am hoping that doesn’t happen, but I am preparing myself for the possibility.

So, yeah, gave up my Monday office.

And it’s all going to be ok.

I have food, I have shelter, sunlight, access to my deck, places to walk still (hoping that will hold out a little longer), friends to have long conversations on the phone

Oh yeah.

And.

Homework.

Sigh.

I still have lots of that.

Dance Party

March 20, 2020

Because ain’t nobody watching and I need to move my body.

And why the hell not?

I’m officially on day, what, three of shelter in place, and it’s getting goofy in here.

I live in a one room studio.

Thank God I have a deck.

My own deck, not my landlords, no access to anyone else, a good distance away from the neighbors, on the second floor, above the backyard that is never used (it’s a tangled jungle of over grown weeds and bushes), my deck floats, a little tiny haven.

A tiny piece of heaven.

With two white Adirondack chairs and flowers in pots from Sloat Garden Center that I bought a few months ago when only the faintest of faint whispers of the corona virus where in the air.

I do have to say, though, it felt like something was coming.

I didn’t think it was a virus.

I thought maybe the tech bubble was going to burst in San Francisco again.

I moved to SF a little while after the bubble burst and I was also here during the crash, it had the same feeling, something was looming.

But this?

I had not predicted this.

Shut in, shut down, shut away.

So yeah, I got my dance party on for a little while tonight, I still have the music going nice and loud.

I am alive.

I am in good health.

I am sheltered.

I am really grateful.

I am extraordinarily grateful.

I can still work.

I am still “seeing” clients.

Not in person anymore, I was the last woman standing in the building where my office is on Monday, I had thought I was going to have a full week of connecting one last time with my clients and I had just literally sent out emails to all my clients saying I could meet until March 23rd.

I was actually upset the first time I got that date from my agency, I was petulant, don’t tell me when I have to stop seeing clients in person, but I also recognized that this was not about me and that I needed to follow along, especially since I work for an agency and they are the ones signing my paycheck.

The money from my clients does not go into my pocket.

It goes into my bank account that my agency controls–I can put money in, but I can’t take money out.

So.

Yeah.

Need to comply, even if I felt really secure in my health and the protocols I was taking at my office to make sure that it was clean and sanitary and safe.

Sigh.

Therefor I was a bit bereft to get the email saying wrap it up and switch over to telehealth by the 23rd.

I stomped my foot a little, but I did draft all the emails and I did comply.

And then.

Ha.

Shelter in place was announced.

Literally twenty minutes after sending out the last client email saying, hey (much more formal, thank you, I’m not a complete heathen) there, happy to continue seeing you at my office, unless you don’t feel comfortable, then we can do video or telehealth, but yeah, I’m here all week.

Nope.

I am not in fact.

I get the email from my agency saying shelter in place is going into affect and I have to the end of day to see clients.

Well.

Fuck.

I craft a new email and start sending them out, while also fielding emails from clients who were coming in that day who didn’t want to anymore because, mother fuck, got to run to the grocery store and secure more toilet paper and beans and rice.

More sighs.

Of the five client sessions I had scheduled, one showed up in person, two did a video session, one rescheduled for later in the week and the other said, hey, we’ll get back to you once we figure out our lives.

More sighs.

I didn’t charge any cancellations fees, I sent out copious telehealth consent forms, I got myself together and I went into my office to see my last face to face client for who knows how long.

The shelter in place is at least until April 7th.

I have to say, I think it may go longer than that.

So I also did some pro-active things on my end.

Because even though I can work from home, I knew I was going to lose clients.

Lost one today.

And client sessions, either due to cancellations, clients running out of money who aren’t working, parents homeschooling kids, panic, fear of financial insecurity, etc.

That I knew I had to take care of myself.

I paid April rent early.

I reworked my spending plan and I cut out $700.

I might even be able to trim a little more.

I’m obviously not going anywhere.

I canceled, ugh, my trip to San Luis Obispo and my weekend at the Madonna Inn.

Bless their hearts, they gave me a full refund on my room.

Which I promptly spent stocking up on food and toiletries at Rainbow Co-op.

I have actually never spent as much as I did on one grocery shopping trip.

Mostly because I bought coffee in bulk (y’all worried about toilet paper, I’m making sure I can sustain my caffeine needs) and toiletries in triplicate.

I did buy plenty of food too.

My fridge has more in it than I think I ever have seen.

I shop two to three times a week since I don’t eat sugar and flour, I cook a lot and I eat fresh foods.

I managed to secure a lot o fresh stuff, but I also did get food to prepare and freeze and can.

And back up of my favorite breakfast foods and some nice sugar free chocolate, because I’m going to need a damn treat once in a while.

And though I cannot see where this all leads, I can see that I am really lucky that I live in my own beautiful space.

It may be a studio, but I don’t have room mates.

And.

Oh thank God.

I live two blocks from the beach.

So every day I have gone outside and walked to the ocean and watched the surfers still paddling out and felt the wind on my face and walk through Golden Gate Park and breathed in deeply the fresh air.

There are people out, but we give each other wide berth and there is much kindness when doing so.

There may come a time when I can’t go out and walk, but fingers crossed that won’t happen.

I do know, though, I cannot peer into the future and I can’t live in the anxiety of not knowing.

I have to stay present and presented minded and strong.

I have therapy clients to help.

I have service to do.

I need to stay focused and clear.

Which is why dance party.

I had to shake the ya ya’s out.

Big love to you and yours.

Be gentle and stay in good health.

And.

When the mood strikes.

Dance.

Really.

No one is looking.

One More Week

August 12, 2019

Of freedom.

From school.

Which is fucking hilarious as I carted around two gigantic text books today on the off chance of being somewhere I was going to read.

I learned to always carry my books with me, because inevitably the day will come when I don’t, (this past Saturday) when a client no shows and I have down time to read.

Or I’m at work and unexpectedly get time to read.

I probably won’t at all be able to do that at work tomorrow, I just don’t see it happening, but sometimes it does and as my time is super precious I use whatever I can get.

I have finished one of my text books for the fall semester and started in on another one and I am simultaneously reviewing a few articles for the class I will be guest lecturing on the 21st of September and reading a book for that class as well.

I did question myself a little about that today as I sat in a training in Berkeley for my agency, what am I doing teaching a class too this semester?!

But, I feel it’s good for me to do and I’m excited for the topic and the few people, outside of school, I have run it by, really like listening to me talk about it.

I find that encouraging, if someone who doesn’t have a background in psychology finds it fascinating, those who are pursuing the Master’s degree should like it too.

Or so I hope.

Regardless of whether they do or not,  I am learning as I prepare to teach.

Which is always how it goes.

Want to learn something on a deeper level?

Teach it.

I have had that experience over and over and over again.

And I’m grateful to get to go before an incoming Master’s cohort who are just beginning their journey and say here I am, in my second year of a PhD program, as a licensed Associate Marriage and Family Therapist with a burgeoning private practice.

I get to model what they can become and that’s really a sweet gift to give back.

I didn’t know how much work it was going to be and I’m pretty glad I didn’t, I did know I was right where I was supposed to be and I want to share all the things that I have gotten to learn over the past few years.

An hour and a half lecture will not encapsulate that, but it should be enough time to lecture on Reverie, which I find totally fascinating.

Reverie is something that happens in sessions where daydreams, wayward thoughts, fantasies, visions, intuitions, come to the therapist.

The first time it happened to me in a session, a dyad at school with a classmate, I got spooked.

I thought I had drifted off.

But there was something so potent about it, the image that came to mind, that I mentioned it to my professor who then told me that I had experienced  reverie and that it was clinically significant.

We discussed what I saw, how it was clinically relevant, and how to make an intervention around it.

It was fascinating.

It still is and there’s lots to talk about, and I won’t bore you with it at this time, since I don’t know that you’re really here to listen to me practice my lecture in Psychodynamics.

Heh.

Who knows why you’re here anyway.

I don’t.

I mean.

This blog has been dark for almost two years now, maybe actually it has been a little more than two years.

I don’t link it to social media.

I don’t post it anywhere.

This is just me noodling away at my keyboard.

There are perhaps of handful of folks that still follow me out there who know me, but most of the people that read this have no idea who I am.

Once in a while it gets read a whole bunch and I’ll be curious who has discovered it and why is it so fascinating.

Recently it was getting a ton of reads in, of all places, Hong Kong.

No idea why.

But for a few days, on and off for the last couple of months, literally hundreds of my blogs were being read in Hong Kong.

That was kind of cool to see.

I don’t know how many blogs I’m going to get out before the semester starts, I’ll be starting with some new clients this week and trying to get some homework done before the intensive.

One of my classes doesn’t have the syllabus up yet, which always makes me nervous, but the other two do and there is going to be some major work and a lot of reading to do this semester just for these two classes.

But.

I am not going to stop blogging.

Especially since I am going to actually try to incorporate my blog into a “Work In Progress” assignment for my class in Arts Based Research.

I know that I won’t be able to do a blog a day like I still managed to do with my Master’s degree.

That became really evident I am sure when my blogs took a total nose dive once I began my PhD and started building up my private practice.

The blog took such a hit.

But.

I have never stopped writing and I’m going to keep sending out these little missives to the Universe whenever I can.

It helps me to keep my writing chops and it helps me process all the things.

Like not speaking or being in contact with my ex and what that feels like.

Good and super hard all at the same time and scary and sad.

Or thinking about the time I was in Cuba, just recently and had an overwhelming spiritual experience at a Catholic church where Santoria is practiced.

Floods of tears, praying on my knees, and asking for forgiveness in front of a black Madonna.

Or when I was walking the cobblestone streets of Old Havana with my hair up, a long white dress on, a bright turquoise parasol protecting me from the sun and the feeling of awe in wonder at who I get to be in this life and where I get to go.

And.

Where I get to go home to.

San Francisco.

I am still here.

Hanging on at the edge of the city.

The ledge of the Western seaboard.

Two blocks from the Ocean.

The moon rise and the the dark breach of universe turning above me.

I am so fucking grateful to be alive.

It’s ok that I got my heart broke.

It’s ok that my rent’s ridiculous.

It’s ok that I’m still a nanny.

I get to do all these miraculous things.

It’s ok that I’m busy with my PhD and nervous to teach the class.

I get to do all these things.

Because.

I am graced.

Happy.

Joyous.

And so very.

Very.

Very.

Free.

Making Up for Lost Time

January 22, 2013

Today I got it on.

First, after leaving the house to go get groceries, the cupboards were bare, I did the usual.

Pray.

Eat.

Drink coffee.

Write.

Meditate.

I also posted a blog here about the hideousness of the migraine I had yesterday and I actually found that I had taken photographs of the neighborhood I was in yesterday, the 16th arrondissement.  I thought I had not, surprise.

There were more surprises in store for me today.

An e-mail from my dearest sister.  I have not been in contact with her for years.  It was such a wonderful surprise, it brought tears to my eyes.  I sent her some recent photographs I have taken of Paris and shared a brief bit of what I am doing with my life.

Slow to re-establish contact, I may be, but grateful for that contact nonetheless.

My sister and I have never been close.

But she is my sister and there are things we share and things, like this blog, that would never be without her influence.

“Meet your Auntie Bubba,” she said to my eldest niece, handing over the bundled baby I had just watched be labored into this world.

“Aw, Pooh,” I said, using my own family nickname for my little sister, “can’t we let the Bubba thing die?”

“No.” She replied with conviction.

There was no arguing with her.

There usually never was.

Oh, I tried.

Yet, in the end, I usually gave up.

I lost contact with her frequently over the years.  The last time I really talked with her was about seven and a half years ago.  The last time I saw her was nearly nine years ago.

My baby sister.

We were extraordinarily close at times, though, especially between my 19th and 21st years.

We lived on and off together during those years, I helped her with my oldest niece, we shared many experiences, many challenges, a lot of moving around the country, and some crazy ass parenting, or lack thereof, from our mutual mother and father.

We were unspoken rivals.

She dated.

I did well in school.

She was the pretty one.

I was the smart one.

Or so goes the story I told myself.

I was jealous of her, and maybe she was of me.

I cannot always ascertain the truth of things any longer.  It, whatever it was, was so long ago.

“Mom!  Carmen dropped acid with a bunch of strange guys.”  My sister ratted me out.

I remember certain things.

I remember the way she smells, and how strangely ugly and devastatingly beautiful she was when she was giving birth.  I thought I would never be so beautiful.  I thought I am in the presence of something so fierce and god like it could be shattering to look on for too long.

I remember how amazing she is as an artist.  She could always draw and paint.  I never held a candle to her talent.  I also castigated myself for not being an artist.  Or as smart as she.

In the end, she was always smarter than me, with herself, with people, with my mother.

It may have been to her demise and I believe she had a longer, uglier, wilder, and much weirder journey than the one I have been on.

We are bound, though, I will not argue that, never deny that.

I wish, hope, pray, what have you, that one day I will walk with my sister along the banks of the Seine and all the old malice will drop like diving birds into the water and we will start anew, afresh, with light, and love in our eyes for each other.

And maybe a modicum of compassion and a little empathy too.

I miss my monkey.

She may have been my original love.

The first face to draw my attention, so like me, so unlike me.

Then, another surprise.

Aside from the revelation I had this morning doing my daily writing.

Daily writing, morning pages, pen to paper, how do I love thee?  Let me forever count the ways, one page at a time, one letter at a time, one word at a time.  I am finding more and more of myself in you.

It came down to the migraine.

I was stressed.

I let the stress build up.  I let myself get too anxious, too worried, too much in the constant action of trying to figure it out.  Too much in my head.

My head rebelled.

Even my head can only take so much of my brain before it too wants to explode.

I resolved, while writing, to let go, to surrender, to just be ok with what is happening, or not happening, in front of me, or behind the scenes.

Where will this matter in ten years, ten months, ten days?

It won’t.

Get into it.

Get into being in Paris.

Have fun being broke.  Get silly.  Be wild. Be free.  Enjoy it.

Act like the broke student doing the European tour.

I never got to do that in college, I am now.

So what if I am 40.

I am never too old to learn, to discover, to have an experience.

Don’t mind the lack, my words, my definition, of success, just get into the mix.

I am successful, I am.

I am a writer.

I am a writer that got a response from an agent.

!

That was the next surprise in my e-mail.

I got a response to a cold query I sent an agent last week.

She said she was interested in reading more.  Would I send the first ten pages?

I did.

She responded back in less than an hour to that e-mail.

52 minutes to be exact, but who’s paying attention?

Me.

I just about peed my pants.

I certainly teared up.

The second e-mail asked for the whole shebang.

She wants to read the book.

She wants to read the book!

SHE WANTS TO READ THE BOOK!

Breathe.

Ok.

She also wanted a full summary, chapter, by chapter.

Fuck me.

I have never written a summary of the book.

Ok.

Internet.  Google.  Research.

I opened up a new document and I opened up my book and chapter, by chapter, by chapter, all fifteen of them, I wrote a summary.

I introduced each character.  I outlined the action.  I breathed.

Jesus, there’s a lot of crack in this.

A lot of violence.

Rape.

Abuse.

I got teary again.

I am no victim.

But I am a survivor.

I paused, I finished the outline.  I knew it was too long.  I knew, as well, that I did not have to respond immediately.  In fact, I did not want to seem too eager to the agent.

I let it sit.

I went and did other business.

I filed my taxes.

Yup.

Taxes done.

I am getting a small return.

Enough to live on for another few months, supplemented with the odd baby sitting gig or two.

I got dressed.

I had been in my pajamas all day long.

That is the nice thing about working from home, you can wear your Hello Kitty pajamas until 5 pm and nobody knows the difference.

I went to the American Church and paid a visit to my fellows.

I came home, no nausea on the Metro, thank God.

I made dinner.

I made tea.

I re-opened the summary of Baby Girl and I revised it, edited it, and made sure it was clean and direct.  I also made sure that it was not longer than the industry standard.  Which meant editing it tighter than the original draft.

I opened up my g-mail account and drafted a response to the agent.

I thanked her for her further interest, attached the summary, attached the book, and sent it out to the Universe.

I took action and let go of the results.

That is the best I can do.

That and love myself to bits for taking the leap.

It does not matter if she picks up my book.

Oh, of course I want her too, but it does not matter.

I have been making the effort and I made the leap and I let myself come to Paris and dream.

I loved myself enough to follow my bliss.

Even when I doubted and doubled back.

I stuck it out.

Yes, I can say, I am here to stay.

In Paris.


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