Back in London after the few days in Paris. Had a nice time visiting my mom and seeing her for the first time since April (next time, Dad--next time). Thanks largely to the drive of my mother, we visited Victor Hugo's house, Napoleon's tomb, and the Musée Rodin. I requested a trip up to Montmartre (as it is the setting of my favorite noir film), so we went up there on Saturday, wandered around a bit, rode the funicular, bought some creme brulee-type sweets and ate them in the cemetery there. On Sunday we met Caitlin and Heidi (who were in Paris for the weekend themselves) in the Musée de l'Orangerie after seeing the Water Lilies. Overall it was a nice mini-break, and I even got a chance to read some of the planned Orwell and skulk in a couple cafes.
I feel like I should be writing more, telling you about the small snafu that nearly made me miss my train and could have cost me the trip; how I got caught in the pouring rain while trying to find Oscar Wilde's grave; how I saw the most attractive butcher ever (*Insert crude sausage innuendo here*); or how I had "Little Water Song" stuck in my head for most of the trip. But I don't feel like it.
I'm in a bad way right now, and as I've discussed previously, I can't unpack my heart with words here. And lately I have found this forum distracting. I may try tomorrow, or over the next couple days to recalculate a plan of attack for this blog, but at the moment there's just too much going on. What it comes down to is this: I used to know someone who kept a blog, and would on occasion list grievances he had with certain aspects of his life. And that is fine--it is within his right to do so, absolutely. But what began to worry me was that I was finding out more about him from his blog than what he'd share with me in person--we would meet, and I would ask him questions about his life that I knew part of the answers to because of what he posted on the Internet, and he would only half respond. He was my friend, and I didn't understand why it was easier for him to put on the 'net, probably knowing I'd have read it, but wouldn't talk to me about it in person. And in this world, where I seem to in effect be stalking my friends over the Facebook, finding out about babies and marriages and engagements there first instead of from the people themselves--I don't know, it just seems like the wrong order. It doesn't seem right to not turn to the help available to you, to the people available to you when you need them, directly, and instead: opting to hope that they'll follow up on something with you after you've left a huge hint for them laid out in bright, red, flashing neon letters. Not to be too crass about it, but that's just kind of fucked up in my opinion. And I don't want to cut my friends out of my life because I suddenly have a better relationship with them through my blog. That just doesn't seem fair, and isn't how I want to run the business of my life. And of course, it is far distant from the topic of this blog anyway...
...and just what was that again anyway?
I have some things I need to unload somewhere, and I know it can't be here. So I'm going to try to go and do that and come back here when it's settled. Or when I have any news of real note.
And with that: I'm out.