Since my arrival in Paris in mid January the weather has been pretty consistent: grey, slightly rainy, with rapid fluctuations between cold & damp and warm & humid (with a few notable exceptions). The cloud cover has been fairly constant with thick voluminous clouds, often dark and ominous looking. One might mistake this for seattle.
Tonight is one of the few occasions on which the rain has broken free. It is pounding my windows, whipping back and forth. It's wonderful. I love storms and as I feared, this is all too short lived. As I type it seems to already begun petering off, before I have gotten a chance to snuggle myself in to bed.
It reminds me of this beautiful song by a Canadian artist named Jane Seibury (I'm sure I spelled that wrong) on the soundtrack to "The Crow".
Last week while hanging out with my friend Massy, an Algerian guy I met a few days after I arrived in Paris, I complained that having long since finished the book I brought to Paris with me (Animal, Vegetable, Miracle), and having gobbled up the book I brought with me from Aaron's place in Rome (Hungry Ghost), I had run out of English language literature. My textbooks and course readings not withstanding. I don't know if it is all the Freud or overly self-gratified excessively esoteric literary analysis that is doing this to me, but I feel desperate for books to immerse myself into. Stories, fiction, leisure reading.
Massy works at a hotel where there are a lot of books left behind so he brought me one to read. He gave me Twilight. I knew very little about Twilight, except that Erika had been obsessed with it, as well as seemingly every other woman around me last fall. I knew they had made it into a movie that was fairly popular, particularly among the high school demographic. I knew it was a vampire story. We all love a good vampire story.
Massy gave the book to me last Sunday. Already I am nearly finished. I can't put it down. I have to literally pry myself away from it. Two hours ago I decided that it would be acceptable to read it while I ate dinner - as opposed to watching episodes of the Simpsons online, or an episode of Lost, for that matter. I ate, and read. And finished eating. And continued reading. I am a complete addict. I even caught myself tonight wondering if there is a sequel. I am going to be sad when this book ends. All 500+ pages of it are just too few. How will I get my fix? I feel like a teenage girl - fantasizing about the leading man in the story.
Remember that little chant of early teen girls (I must, I must, I must increase my bust... no, we never actually do that guys. Honest.)? My chant is now: I must, I must, I must put down this book (and read my psych text instead =(
I cannot tell you how many nights this last week I have found myself headed to bed, having the debate: It's late already... Do I have time for reading? Maybe I'll just read a few pages. Then a few pages becomes a chapter. A chapter becomes two. And then I find myself awake at 2:30 IN THE MORNING, with the angle and the demon on either shoulder battling it out, talking myself into putting the book away and going to sleep.
I think that clearly, I need to meet an insatiably attractive European man to have a nice little European affair... to distract me from the affair I am having with this book. Though having my nose buried in this book is probably making that harder...
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