Finally I’ve discovered my vocation as an alcoholic. I had been looking for it for years! All I needed was going to the Piétons (a cool, not stereotypical bar in the Marais) and try the melon liquor. Next time I go out, I’ll know what I can order to get drunk.
I need to start watching daily weather reports, or bookmark the Météo France website and check it out everytime I go out. There’s something wrong with breaking a sweat in Paris in February (pictures available soon) (pictures of Paris, not pictures of me sweating). Especially now that I’ve found the backpack I wanted, and I don’t need to carry my jacket all the time. It’s not that simple, though: one of the little drawbacks of having lived as a hermit for two years is, I have completely forgotten how to make the connection between what the breasted anchor is saying on TV, and the clothes I’m supposed to wear (contrary to said anchor) in order not to be cold and not to be hot either, and not die of a pneumonia in a dark and cold and soulless hospital room stinking of other clients’ vomit.
Oh, and I also have to find (again) what to do with my life, since the option I had considered achieving by week’s end seems to turn out completely unrealistic. Back to square one: write a novel. Ideas, anyone?