Funny how one day can begin with screaming on the bottom floor of a Parisian metro because you're lost and end by giving cheek kisses to an Italian man who drew your portrait in the courtyard of the Notre Dame. While I prefer life to be comprised solely of moments like the latter, the former make the day so much sweeter in the end.
I knew I would mess up and skip a day of blogging. What can I say? I'm tired. We intended on waking up early to head over to the Louvre before our lunch reservation. Let's just say that us waking up at ten and getting lost in the metro for 20 minutes didn't help in getting any of that accomplished. What's that saying about the best laid plans of mice and men? Don't bother getting attached to plans, because they're for sure gonna change.
We won't discuss the many ways in which I made an ass out of myself today. While we all know how funny it would be to talk about that waiter taking pity on me when I needed a cup of coffee that I couldn't order properly. Or the woman I seemed to scare out of a wine store with my bad French. We're beyond all that. We've grown. It's the Summer of Yes. We're positive now. Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.
It's been several weeks since I last blogged. I'm not sure if that's because Canton is low-key, or if I'm just boring. Probably the latter. Something that I have done with great vigor lately is figuring out how to be a better person. Well, I guess to be more precise: I've been trying to figure out how to stop being such a shit bird.
She never told me, but I knew the way she slept in mango trees
I've been working hard on the same story for months. Years, really. I know I've mentioned that before, but sometimes it's hard for me to get my head wrapped around. My thesis has consumed every bit of me and there doesn't seem like an end in sight. The goal has been to write out fifty pages every week, which is an ambitious goal. Sure, I write quickly, but that much output is exhausting.
I felt a pinch in my palm: a rosebud sprouted from my life line.
Life has been pretty rough for me as of late. I’ve been through the wringer, and I’m just trying to keep my shit together long enough to grow as a person. Thank God for poetry, even if this poetry isn’t any good.
Boston is on fire. I mean, not in the literal sense, but in that "holy-shit-is-this-an-oven" sort of way. Before I got here, Harriet warned me that it might be a little cool. Foolishly, I packed a sweater. I did not need a sweater.
With so much time on my hands these days, I reflect a lot. A year ago, I met a young girl who was on the verge of tears every time I saw her. She suffered from intense anxiety, but made herself come to the summer camp where I worked every day for two weeks because she loved writing so much. She was, and continues to be, an inspiration.