L’amour Fou

My hotelroom is tiny. Still, it has balcony (diminuitive) and when I stand there, if I lean over, I can see the Eiffel Tower.

After classes, I come here, take a shower and turn on some French music television and sit on my tiny bed, going over my notes. Exhausted. Missing my kids. And excited like I haven’t been in a long time.

One day I just walked, loosing myself in the city, just walking for hours, aimlessly and deliciously lost, that by the time I was home, my corner patrisserie had closed. My feet could carry me no more and I didn’t have dinner. You hear me? I did not have dinner. Me!

It is all part of the same romantic fantasy I am living these days. A poor student in Paris. It has  been a lifelong dream – I never thought I’d outlive it as I was middleaged and had to leave the kids with the Ayatollah at home. But here I am. I was accepted at Universitée de Lyon and will be going to Paris for a week at a time every second month over the course of the next year.

I am scared shitless and excited and don’t know where it is going to take me.

It is kind of like being in love.

L’amour fou.