Jet lag has struck and I'm lying in a hotel bed in Paris at two in the morning listening to the sound of a night winding down. There's a cafe across the street from the hotel and it's been a good evening for them.
We got in at 8 in the morning and instead of sleeping on the plane, I thought it would be fun to watch 3 movies. We got to our hotel at 9am, we'd been awake for roughly twenty hours, and we were told that we couldn't check in until two. Five hours of more not sleeping. I was fine with this. I've got YEARS of not getting any sleep, what with nighttime jobs and daytime relationships. I dragged an exhausted husband and a nearly comatose child out into the streets and we went to Notre Dame and then Shakespeare and Co. That bookstore was a dream come true. I hadn't seen it when I'd been to Paris before and that's a good thing - without a family to answer to, I would have just moved right in. The bookstore is large but you'd never know it because there are so many twists and turns and little nooks to explore. The Kid wedged himself into a kind of cabinet with two typewriters inside and as I browsed upstairs, I could hear him clacking away on the typewriter keys. ALL the new books downstairs, lovely, dusty old books upstairs, with little cots scattered here and there. I met someone once who said they'd lived in the children's book section for a little while. That must have been amazing. It's my idea of a perfect world. If anything ever happens to J, I'm going to pack right up and move into the bookstore.