Sunday, March 25, 2012

The Best of Times

It was a less-than-perfect weekend. Nothing inherently terrible. It started with reminders of home. I received a package on Friday evening filled with summery clothes, necessities, and Easter treats from my mother. Then, I decided to stay up very late to watch the Ohio/UNC. Ohio, as you know, lost, and I ended up hanging out at my favorite bar, pretty much alone, until the metro re-opened Saturday morning at 5:30. That part wasn't so bad, but this resulted in severe sleep-deprivation and a fairly bad hangover, despite a ham & cheese toastie around 4am and less than 1 drink per hour. Saturday was spent in bed, shutters drawn, ignoring the sunshine outside. Around 7pm, I gathered my wits, threw on sundress, and headed out to find wonton soup (the only thing to appease my stomach) and friends. After burning my tongue on hot broth and sucking down a liter of orange juice, I felt almost normal, but headed to bed at 10pm. This morning I woke up early, though the time change made it pretty normal (9:30). I headed out to meet friends for a bike ride shortly after lunch, and conquered Parisian traffic on my bike with a broken seat. We indulged in falafel, ice cream, and a lot of sunshine. While out and about I learned that the poor kid I care for hit his head yesterday hard enough to be taken to the hospital, and so I'll be working all day tomorrow and Tuesday. I walked all the way home from Hotel de Ville, after nearly being deafened by thousands (seriously) of motorcycles revving and beeping past the government building to raise awareness of road safety. After some disappointing spaghetti at home, I'm watching the end of season 4 of Mad Men.

So.

Nothing too crazy. Nothing too terrible.

But as I sit here, Sunday night, relaxed and maybe a little bit tan, I feel as though I have had a pretty stellar weekend. I lived. I tried some new stuff. I was enough of an adult to watch a sports game all alone in a bar and not die. I rode a bike in crazy traffic, and none of us got hit by a bus! (Just close calls.) I took care of myself when I felt bad. Not a big deal.

Today, when I left to go biking, I walked through the Champ du Mars. They have turned the fountains on again, and there was this hound who was leaping through the spray. He would dive into the fountain after a ball, splash around, and then climb out and race away. Eventually he'd trot back to his lady, and she'd toss the ball back in. He was absolutely the happiest dog possible at that moment. And I got weirdly choked up with something like gratitude, or peace, or jealousy, or something. And I just thought to myself, "I am overwhelming lucky." Or the equivalent to that.

Anyway. Nothing was special about this weekend. Or really, everything was.

 falafel from L'As du Fallafel (obvs the best one in the Marais)


 right on, graffiti, right on


 spring-a-ding-ding


 band and dancers on the quay


crazy motorcycles


 planning to spend next weekend here, on the tip of Île de la Cité


what's up, baby

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