I couldn’t live in Paris.
Apart from the fact that I don’t speak French, I just wouldn’t be able to live my day to day there. It’s too much for daily life.
My senses would be lavished all the time. The food, the views, the art, the beautiful people, the monuments. My God, even a quaint little side street is too much in Paris.
There’s an energy unlike any other and I’d never have my head on straight, never be able to focus.
Paris is for getting lost.
It’s all too much and I’d never get to the drug store to buy deodorant. I’d be stopped somewhere along the way by a looming Arch or an ornate street lamp and distraction would win.
Hemingway said Paris is a “movable feast” and he’s right. It’s magic and I can’t live the day to day in magic.
A girls needs deodorant.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Whimsical Rest.