This is where it gets weird. No, not like ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ weird, or people that back in to their garage weird, just kind of a general sense of being out of place.
At first glance, it might seem like I’m roughly in the same place as I was in Day Ten – and to some degree that’s true : Paris and her bipolar beauty does make my mood rather sharply cyclical while I’m here (wait, does that make me bipolar too?), but it’s really less about angst and more about disorientation.
When I planned to spend a month in Paris, it wasn’t for the reason most people probably assumed. I’m sure people presumed that I thought it was just so wonderful that I needed to spend a month there to soak it all in. Of course it’s got its charms and it’s a pretty place to kill time, but that’s not why I’m here. I chose to come here for a month as a sort of self-imposed ultimatum, a way to force the issue to find out if I really, truly wanted to write or take a different path right now.
When at home, the temptation to either do nothing or do what you’ve always done is too strong to overcome sometimes. We are creatures of habit, after all, and being in a comfortable, familiar environment will almost surely make hours disappear much faster than you want them to. That’s not always a bad thing, but I had tangible goals to accomplish, and the clock was ticking on my ability to be without an income-generating job.