It's just cold enough today that it's only 9:34 am and I have the shawl and the heater on at work. My Project Manager is likely suspended somewhere over Quebec right now, gazing down at tundra, and what is left behind doesn't know anything more about what my assignment is than me, so I'm going to pause for a fantasy. No one will notice.
This isn't the fantasy about finally finishing a ms and getting an advance that allows me to start fantasizing about quitting my job to be a writer 24/7. Although that one isn't half bad.
No, this an early autumn fantasy. It's not very unlike this one, but it's not rainy right now.
In this fantasy I am in a small apartment in Paris, one of those tiny wedges with a microscopic kitchen, a closet for a bed, an under-the-counter refrigerator and a wrought iron balcony overlooking a historic square that makes up for it all. There's a cafe below, the tables mostly empty. Leaves dance by over the sidewalk and gutters like Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron.
I am under a silk patchwork quilt by the closed balcony doors. I am reading Jane Eyre, and I don't have to be anywhere, all day. Maybe not even tomorrow.
Unless I want to pop downstairs for an aperitif.
2 comments:
ah, i love that movie. and j'adore your fantasy -- i would love an apartment & a life just like that. this weather makes me really feel it. perhaps we could be neighbors, non? :)
I love that idea, too... although mine might be a farm in Vermont rather than apartment in Paris.
Post a Comment