Since this hour last Friday morning: 19,334 words.
Wow. Okay, then. No wonder my hands are ready to fall off! And there is no sign of letting up.
So, it rained
hard yesterday. I pulled off my headphones because I could hear the thunder and downpour through them. I much prefer that to any music. I mostly wear the headphones these days just to block out the noise of the horny bird outside my window.
The New Yorker just published a surprisingly unfunny article by David Sedaris about the odd behavior of the birds outside his home in Normandy. I'm thinking of writing a "rebuttal" to it set here in Provence about France, sex, politics, and the birds outside my window all feverishly squeaking to get some tail feather action.
Speaking of tail feather action, just got a major thumbs up from the Marquise on the "Growing Up Religious Nutty, Darth Vader and My Sexual Awakening" article. I'm not the only one. Ooooh, no. I hope Nerve bites. If not, I've got a list of places to send it.
I'm getting a little queasy thinking about my return to L.A. There might be a house available near The Frenchman's work, a two-bedroom with hardwood floors and two-car garage. I'm not thrilled with the location at all, but I haven't seen it. It would be nice to have a place to go that is our own when we land, especially since he's leaving immediately for Middlebury.
I
finally finished the spectacular
The Day of the Jackal. It was one of a few books that I had to leave half-read as I plowed through several psychological thrillers to write THRILLED. Admittedly, it grew on me very slowly. I wasn't totally hooked until page 150, where I was simultaneously cheering on both the French homicide detective Lebel
and the Jackal. I don't think I've ever read a book in my life where that has happened. The characters are astonishingly well drawn. There's a reason this is a classic.
Another day of writing without interruption until this evening, when we have a dinner party with The Fabulous B (not Dr. B, but another) and a couple from Belgium. The Fabulous B is the hilarious, super sexy friend who must be close to 70, if not over, who has boyfriends in their 40s. I so want to be her when I grow up. We ran into her at the theater a few months ago. She sat with us and grew excited when she noticed my
balcon. (The French have a saying that, if a woman has a generous bosom, she has "lots of people standing on her balcony.") She felt obligated to discuss my
balcon at length. A few weeks after that, she introduced me in English to friends of hers from San Francisco at a café in Aix as, "This is Maria. She's lost a lot of weight."
Seriously. This is the sort of senior citizen I'm going to be. I can see it now. Discussing women's bosoms and attracting men half my age.
Love it.
And now for at least another 3000 words, I hope.
