If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time. —Marcel Proust
The main difference in coming to Paris for fun (moi) and coming to Paris for school (Zee Husband), is best illustrated by our dreams last night:
Mine – We found a giant turtle who was lethargic at first, you know, turtle-ey. After a spell he and Devil dog became best buddies and would frolic together on the golf course. We named our turtle Charlus and he was family forever.
His – There were snakes.
I guess this phenomenon could be explained by our evening entertainment. I am reading Proust. He is reading Berlitz French.
I’m an avid reader but go mostly for the brain candy kind of reading; however, I decided to filter in a few classics here and there. Let’s call them the capers of an otherwise ordinary salad of life.
I tackled Tolstoy last year. But Proust. It’s a beast. Weirdly, I’m halfway through now (12,000 pages long—not kidding) and I’m already regretting it will be over soon. One of the characters is named Charlus. He’s not at all like my turtle. Sorry. Our turtle.
So, to recap. The Husband is in school for two weeks and I’m not.
Here are some photos taken yesterday after The Husband got out of school and just before he started dreaming of snakes: