Saturday, November 15


This morning I decided that I want to be an intellectual. If I lose my beauty I have to be able to compensate with intelligence. There are days that I miss being normal, being able to wake up early and feel in control of my life. At this point there are only a few things that remind me of normalcy, like brushing my hair or calling a friend or folding my clothes. I had a coffee at Hotel V. and ate two small croissants. Everything in Paris seems to be about size these days. There are mini croissants and mini pains au chocolat and mini viennoisses. The girls wear mini ballerina’s but their scarfs are big as blankets and their bodies look like skeletons. They look like life is easy and perhaps it is for them. Since I want to be an intellectual I decided it makes sense to read. The bookstores are open from twelve to midnight, so I bought Newsweek, Figaro Magazine and Paris Match. After some hesitation I also bought a book with a pink cover: “Souvenirs érotiques d’une femme vénale”. Maybe intellectuals don’t read books with pink covers, but I thought it was a start. The cashier was a young man with curly brown hair and big sad eyes. He touched my hand when he gave me my change and it felt like there was contact, right there, in a separate reality.