Left Outs

Why is packing such hell?  Because I am the kind of person who likes to have things out and in sight.  My desk at work had piles of files on it.  And I could locate the exact one I needed at any time out of 4 stacks that were at least 6 inches high.  When you pack, you are hiding stuff, essentially.  For a normal trip, overnight to 4 weeks, I usually pack the night before.  Maybe throw things that I might take on the spare bed.  But here, I have weight limitation of 50 pounds per pack.  And you can’t figure out the weight until you put the stuff in the bag.

I was so proud of myself for packing and zipping up the duffle bag.  Good to go.  Until I couldn’t locate my saline solution and had to open it up again.  Yup.  There it was.  And it’s not like at home where I pick and choose from my closet for what to wear while throwing the things to take on the spare bed.  Nope.  All the clothes must go back. Normally  I plan my daily wardrobe in the morning on the spur of the moment.  Now I must plan ahead – what gets packed in the checked bags, what stays out to wear here in Paris for the next several days and will end up in the carryon.  I hate this.  Oh.  Repeating myself…

Some bus drivers are nice.  Others not so.  The traffic is so messed up near me.  It took 30 minutes to go 3 blocks this morning.  I should have walked.  But I would have ended up getting on the same bus at the stop across from the traffic jam caused by roadwork. Coming back, the bus is on deviation.  Some drivers make us get off at Bosquet Rapp, three blocks away.  Other nicer drivers will let me off at my street.

More on Tango.  I fluctuate.  Hopeless. Hopeful.  Yesterday I was feeling absolutely hopeless.  Why did I think I could do this?  I clomp, I don’t dance.  Today I could feel and see the difference.  That I had improved.  I think maybe tango is changing the way I walk… certainly my balance is changing – for the better.

I am exhausted this afternoon.  I have plans to meet a friend for a drink and then another friend for a vegetarian dinner.  So I am lounging on the couch or at the laptop this afternoon.  Why so tired?  I have been getting sensible sleep this past week.  It’s the tango.  It’s both a physical and a mental exercise.  The brain is trying to coordinate the body’s movement.  And the body is not so sure that the brain knows what it is doing.  Trying to do.  This is actually a long standing point of discussion/contention with my Sacramento teacher and a tango partner.  They scoff when I ask to understand the movements.  It should all be muscle memory, they declare.  My Russian French Tango teacher is less strict – yeah, let the brain do its analytical thing and then let it sink into the muscles.  I agree with her.  But the hour of concentration wears me out.  Especially today – it was my third tango lesson this week.  And she tried to review everything we covered.  So I actually had to remember things   Yikes.

And I am not getting much napping in.  Although I want to.  Desperately.  I started weekend afternoon naps when I turned 40.  Then at 50, naps just weren’t interesting.  So I stopped.   Now it’s more an in the moment need.   Today, I had the need.  And desire.  I close my eyes, hoping to drift off.  And I think of something else I have left out of the blog…

Did you wonder when I said one fewer day to lose my keys?  That’s because losing the apartment key is a big fear.  If you have been reading since the first stay in 2015, you may recall the horrible episode of the lost key – which I discovered when a routine pocket check while on the RER to the airport to meet a friend confirmed that I did not have the key on me.  Working backwards, I decided I must have dropped it in the trash bin on my way out. Yikes.  The Universe was looking over me.  When I returned to the apartment (I could get into the building with the code) I immediately checked the trash bins.  Yikes.  They had been emptied.  But there, on the bottom in a bit of liquid, sat my keys.   I have no clue but give thanks to this day.


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