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This is about pee.

Tonight while babysitting, I couldn’t get Louis to go to the bathroom before going to bed. His parents specifically reminded me to make sure he goes, otherwise, during the night “it’ll be everywhere.” Ew. Gross. So I tried and I tried and I BEGGED HIM and he just wouldn’t; he was screaming and throwing a fit, so I said fine. We read a bedtime story (I always feel like the guy from Hey Arnold in that “Pet the Kitty” episode whenever I have to read), Celeste went to bed, and I begged Louis once again to just try. He refused, and I’d rather have a sleeping Louis than a screaming Louis so, reluctantly, I put him to bed. 

Apartment silent, I sat in the kitchen, replaying the scene of Louis’ parents waking up to find a wet bed (ew, sorry, this is kind of gross), and subsequently realizing I hadn’t fulfilled my duties and that I’m actually incapable of doing most of the things they ask me to do and I literally have no experience taking care of children and that I’m kind of making this all up as I go.

My mind spiraled: why am I even in France? I began thinking that I don’t belong here at all. I began thinking about all the times I’ve made a fool of myself while babysitting (and just while…living); thinking about the cultural differences and that they couldn’t be resolved; thinking about how I don’t think I’ll ever get this language right. I surrendered, mentally. French culture — not for me.

Then I remembered that Louis had actually peed in the bathtub and I loved France again. 

Paris is beautiful and there’s no time to blog, even though I never want to forget my days here. Still, I can’t get into the groove of writing everything I did everyday, even if it’s just in my notebook. Joan Didion says she can’t either, so I guess it’s okay. Snippets’ll do. 

Breakfast for dinner? Eh.

Dinner for breakfast? AMAZING.

Pasta time! 

Today, I ate a whole box of 63 cent cookies.

I am not proud. 

More education, less homework.

aliceinwonderland13:

Less homework, more Paris.
More Paris, less sleep.
More sleep, more tea.
More sleep, more tea, more Paris, more education. 

my sentiments exactly. also, more pastries. 

On average, I eat about 5 apples and 6 clementines a day.

Approximately. 

I like to walk.

Weaving yourself through streets, through people, through relationships. Walking alongside or behind a couple. Or a family. Or a group of friends. Breaking through them. Your existence is so irrelevant to them, yet for those brief moments, some subconscious reaction happens; there’s a quick stop short, or a minor detour. We all work in this choreographed sequence of turns and swerves and nuanced steps, and glances and halts and crossings and parallels. Today I walked from Saint Michel to the Pompidou Library. The line was too long, so I decided walk home instead of hopping on the metro. Funny thing was, I only got lost when I was closest to home. I walked around République two times, and I took the most roundabout path to Oberkampf. Lost on my own territory. Does this represent something bigger? Does this matter? Do I care? Time to sleep.

I don’t know if I’ll ever truly feel at home here, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave

Emotions change so rapidly — it’s kind of amazing. What creates happiness? what pushes sadness away? what ignites a smile? There’s no formula…it just happens.

Also there’s chocolate.

These past few days have been great. I’m gonna go march up rue de Belleville and get me some 2 for 9 euro rotisserie chickens!

(I don’t know what I’m going to do with 2 chickens)