Monday, June 14, 2010
I'm back in New York, suffering from a particularly agonizing bout of Paris withdrawal. And the question that keeps rising to the surface of my mind is: "Why do I keep doing this to myself?"
But no sooner do I ask it than I know the answer: Because I'm in love. Unfortunately, I'm in love with an abusive city that looks shiny from the outside but is—behind closed doors—deceitful and cruel. Paris will charm you one moment and then disparage you the next, but once you've lived there, you know that you will never cease to be lured back. Because from a distance, you only remember the charming parts. So you allow yourself to be manipulated, because you kind of like it, because a little Paris is better than no Paris, because you're American and your Paris obsession is as American as apple pie (but a lot more delicious).
Nonetheless, my heart feels dead, and I think it might stay that way until I plan my next séjour.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
As often happens when I get to Paris, I forget all of my responsibilities and spend the first five days (at least) sitting in parks and cafes, doing absolutely nothing—but feeling quite productive doing it. It seems like New York doesn't exist anymore, but apparently it does. And apparently the publishing industry is still churning, so here's my latest from Time Out. When I get home from my real vacation, I think a French staycation will be in order.