My Otaku

Hello, Internet Strangers Who Are Reading My Blog.

Do you know how happy it makes me that I have you, my ten whole, precious Blog Followers; that ten completely removed-from-my-life people are interested in reading my posts? Well let me tell you. It makes me bolded italicized underlined twenty-four font happy. And to the people who know me and read my blog, it makes me equally as happy. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

And sorry, sorry, sorry!

Yes. It has been a whole month since my last post. To the day. As each day has ticked by it has weighed on me heavily, but alas, still I found no time to write. As I said to my sister, one can read « on the side » but one cannot write on the side. So many ideas and writable moments have come and gone. I started keeping a sort of list of these possible post topics, but the thought of going back to those past moments is more than highly undesirable. The past is dead. Dead, I say! The present is rich! Exciting! Alive! The future is also rich, exciting and alive and is not much different than the present except that it keeps arriving every second at my feet like fireworks of gifts of revelation and discovery and unfolding and fruition and surprise.

Paris is less than six weeks away. In perceived time, that is basically tomorrow. I am so excited. I spent seven weeks there last summer, another two weeks in the winter, and now I am about to spend eight-and-a-half weeks again there this summer. I can hardly believe this is my own life I am talking about.

But alas, my pretties, it is!

See. Even now I have so much I could write about but yet again I have to go and that’s just how life is most of the time, isn’t it? I am meeting my friend Yacine who is from Grenoble and when we can which is not often we meet and speak French which pleases me to no end, as you may well imagine. He is going to help me go over the menu from the restaurant where I will be waitressing for my first three weeks in Paris not for the money but for the opportunity to speak French all day long but of course I will earn a bit of money, too.

On top of having to run, this cute boy beside me is chatting me up and although he is a little…verbose slash deep for first encounter coffee talk…his intellect is refreshing and well it’s just nice when people are friendly and talk to each other; when people take notice that we actually exist in a world of other humans; when we are in touch with the fact that there is a real, amazing universe out there beyond our ear buds plugged into our iPhones and o’er top the screen of our iPads and laptops.

I digress.

Besides the distraction of Cute Coffee Shop Boy, I only have seven percent left on my laptop and my parking has expired. Reasons three and four why I cannot write at the moment.

But quickly, before I go.

Someone told me that in the fifth arrondissement in Paris there is a place where a number of book publishers are located and in this area many writers gather and write. I envision this place as a sort of parallel for writers of what La Place de Tertre is for painters. Will I dare sit among them when I return to Paris this summer?

Cute Coffee Shop Guy just asked me what my otaku is. Apparently this is a Japanese word meaning the meeting place between my obsessions and my passions.

Hello. It’s writing.

I love running and singing and cooking and documentaries and reading and people and moments and the small things and many things and just learning stuff. But no matter which of those things I have the luxury of indulging in, afterward, I just want to write about it.

So, Cute Coffee Shop Boy, my otaku is writing! Writing, I say! And although I am working seven days a week until I leave for Paris, once I get there, again I shall write.

Goodbye for now, Internet Strangers Who Are Reading My Blog. Should you happen to find yourself in Paris this summer, do drop by the fifth arrondissement and say hello.

You, too, Cute Coffee Shop Boy. 😉


À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
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