And the way that gravity pushes on everyone
One of the skills that I've promptly acquired in the course of my seven-day skirmish is speed reading. I don't know how much longer I can hold out tonight, it doesn't help that it's raining outside. I fell asleep three times so far, I'm just glad that tomorrow's paper starts at five and ends at whichever time I am able to finish decoding it. If I can get past the instructions, I can get past anything I suppose. And I think I've figured out how to do letter-writing for tomorrow, hopefully it will be some sordid topic like love or separation. "Dear Gaspard, (Insert La Vie En Rose lyrics). " Haha, Dorey will be proud of me. Today's deconstruction made my head and my hand very very tired. It is such a lonely sombre night, cold and detached, just the way I like it. Since Monday, the thought of future festivities away from home has been recurring each time I start to drift away (or intentionally drift away) and it has never felt as tempting as now. Flying away is utterly prosaic, I'd prefer to be be slightly more grounded. In my head I still think about the TGV to Rouen, then Dieppe, Le Havre, Bayeux. It could only mean endless book lists, more first edition hardcovers, the smell of stale paper, induced insomnia, reality away from home and libraries. I know it will be nothing like the postcards, the streets will be apprehensive at night, the river will smell, the tap may be faulty, the lights will be dim, and it will always be cold. Very charming, I hope I will not be disappointed.