You knew I'd sneak Kelly Clarkson in at some point...

I've had the most relaxing (see: unproductive) weekend than I've had in a while, complete with a haircut, new jeans, and even a three-hour nap. This morning I woke up to gorgeous Paris sun, the knowledge that it's the first Sunday of the month (free museums!) and the best of intentions to hit up some art, as well as making a huge dent in the shitload of work that is staring me in the face.

So much for that.

This morning Erica sent me the link to a blog she'd happened upon and I proceeded to spend the ENTIRE day reading it. I justify this by telling myself that I've done the same things with books (fall into a story and just can't get out of it for the next six hours) and that well-written blogs could fall into a similar category. I had every reason to leave the house, to enjoy the weather, to see free art, but I stayed here, in my bathrobe with my pretzels, sometimes laughing but mostly crying about how strange life is and being moved for someone I've never met before.

What can I say? It released some shit.

It made me feel like life is short and I spend so much time worrying about what's coming up in the next 5 years and what's been going on for the past five months. Maybe I need to do less of that. Maybe I need to do a little more Kelly Clarkson Miss Independenting, or at least a little Edith Piaf Je ne regrette riening.

This is the year of NTAS, afterall.

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