I feel lame. And I feel like I've been letting you down. The whole idea of coming to Paris was to live. To eat, explore, breathe in and absorb this city. But all I've been doing for the past 10 days—for most of the summer, really—is working. I'm exhausted. But more than that, I'm annoyed.
What happened to the laissez-faire sensibilities? To the blow-off month of August? What happened to the laughable French work ethic? Everyone else seems to be relaxed and smiley from their vacances, so I know it's not all a myth. Unless you're the American writer working through six weekends of the summer, waiting for a contract, and trusting that big things are going to happen.
Adding salt to the wound, I found out last night that they wanted/needed me to go to the Venice Film Festival next week for a project I've been working on. Of course, the first potential boondoggle I've had since I've been here (nope, no product discounts), and I'm already scheduled to be out of the country.
But that's okay. The disappointment of no Venice and the exhaustion of 60+ hours a week will all be worth it when I'm back in New York next week. I can't wait.