I dreamt of Paris last night, which is hilariously contrary to my long-standing distaste for France in general. And I loved it. It was dark, very early morning, when the bakers were up. A narrow street, a cramped row of shopfronts, wet cobblestones outside. Good smells everywhere, of bread. And somewhere there was a song playing, which I have never heard before, and which was stuck in my head even after I woke up. Which, I don't know, makes another case for past lives. And, naturally, it made me think of you.
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Get better. Feel better.
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How was SNL?
TOMS are the shiznit. I live in mine.
And yes, Yoga has gotten contrived. But really, what in our culture isn't? Hm...
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