Like a Rolling Stone

My boyfriend isn't talking to me at the moment. He is sleeping or resting... his excuse? "I was up late last night on acid." I'm sorry, but that's a shitty excuse. I don't get why he would think this is an acceptable reason to not be talking. I mean, I'm not saying that how you feel after doing acid is a totally social one, much more about sleeping and chilling, but I don't like being put on the back burner. I've been up since 7:40 am, biked around 10 km into the wind (you don't think that's important until you feel like you're being pushed backwards by the hand of Zephyr), and eaten an assortment of different foods. I'm sorry, but if I can be awake, then he should be. I know he doesn't mean anything by it, and it's not a personal thing, but it still pisses me off because I make myself available to him, even though he doesn't seem to give a shit. So... yeah, I guess I just have to remind myself this isn't directed at me, it's just how it is.

My face is sun-burned... I have a black eye. Well, a bit of a black eye. It's not a very badass story, it's not much of a story at all, really. I couldn't get my eye makeup off because I didn't have any makeup remover, and so I attacked my face with a towel. Now the area under my right eye is swollen and raw. La Rochelle and Ile de Ré was beautiful. The water was cold, as the Atlantic always seems to be (being from NJ, and having felt it also in Ireland). The towers and buildings had stood since the 1400s and 1600s, raising up above the blue water like sand castles. It was picturesque. Quaint. The people were a lot friendlier, although the drunk assholes on the street were just like Paris. I think it's a French thing to be loud and obnoxious for no reason. My friends and I were all having a good time on the metro until about 40 guys came on to our car. They were all French, but of African descent, and were obviously out enjoying their Saturday night. Suddenly, one guy started to grab this girl by the waist, putting his hands all over her; she--luckily--was not gonna take it. She pushed him off and grabbed her friend and got off the train. Another guy then begins to yell at the gropey one, and we watch as a fight begins to ensue in between the area where my friends are all sitting. I'm watching this, trying to keep my face completely immune to the scene, while secretly horrified and terrified. At the next stop, half of them ran out (along with the gropey guy), and I imagined this was when the gropey guy was gonna be beat up, so hopefully he got what he deserved. I just hate the shear lack of respect for women here, it seems to be all Frenchmen. It seems like they feel entitled to some kind of sexual response from all women. I don't get it. Probably never will. It pisses me off though. It makes me wanna show them the error of their ways. It's one of the major reasons I dislike France.

One of the perks of going away was time away from work, so I read one of my new favorite books: Forced Entries by Jim Carroll. Technically, I was reading it for school, but it was amazing. I love it. I love Jim Carroll. To me, he is the mind of New York. As I read, I listened to the Velvet Underground, the band that truly is magic if you listen to it as you walk down the streets. You feel their high, and slowly your feet are lifted off the ground and wherever you're walking, is perfect, you're perfect, and you can feel the pulse of chance down every street and avenue. I want to get back to the City. I've realized why I don't like Paris. For me, New York is a place of possibilities. Every time I end up walking around, something occurs, and my friends and I are off on an adventure. As we trek from borough to borough, drunk, or high, or simply confused we meet the characters that now make up our late stories. The strange nomads and pansexual EMTs, the smack heads and squatters (usually, one in the same), and at the same time we meet our own opportunities for a breath of a new life. Suddenly, we're climbing over subway turnstiles and stumbling home, walking the dark streets of Brooklyn or Staten Island or occasionally Manhattan, home. When we arrive, we recount, and lay down, and fall into the lap of the City that will create us anew in the morning, ready for that day. I'm ready to be back home and feel the beat of life beneath my sneakers.

I'll check you later,

- Lucy