Disappointment is nothing new to me. I personally think that a healthy dose of not always getting what you want is good for your moral. It builds character, and teaches you resilience. If life was handed to all of us on a silver platter, we'd all be walking around with tiny tea-cup dogs in over sized over priced bags. I don't know about you, but I'm a firm believer that there are enough of those assholes in the world. (Paris, Jessica, Lindsay, all you ladies in the back that want to be their bffflls forever, have a seat).
Lately though, life seems like one long chain of things, that I don't see myself getting. Like an apartment. In Paris. A city that I am desperate to be and stay in for a while at least. And even though I was over joyed today with the possibility of having said apartment, I find myself, yet again disappointed. This apartment slipped through my finger tips faster than an eel. Exhilaration and despair all in one evening is too much for the soul, mind, body tri-fecta. My delicate sensibility simply can not take it.
As an outsider you really feel the constraint of not being a Parisian. Jim Thompson once wrote, " A weed is a plant out of place". In Paris, if you're not Parisian ( not just not French, because technically I am so take that!) you are that weed.
I find myself wondering, what next? Do I pack it in after three months and say fuck it all, or do I press on. Are all dreams meant to come true, and if so - what does that say about my dream? Have I reached to far - have I really hung my hat where I can not reach it.
I don't know the answers to any of that. I just know I'm tired, stressed out, and on the verge of a serious mental break down. Something has to change. Something has to give. Things can't be this shitty for this long. I wonder if Paris would lend me her apartment here - I'd be willing to look after the dogs, for a room!