past 2 days

Yesterday was interesting, I got off work early but had a little bit of stress in my life so I came home and took a nap. Alwin wanted me to go over to St Sulpice for a book fair, all of the vintage booksellers I guess you could say come together once a year for this huge exposition ... there were thousands of books from the 1600s, 1700s, 1800s, and early 1900s. I saw a book signed by Victor Hugo and a first edition of Lolita. It was incredible. Over tea afterward though, once we realized Alwin doesn't like Tolstoy and Ingrid doesn't like Kafka relations became very strained. The rest of the night was awkward. Luckily he will be gone for a week so he can rethink that opinion.

So, then I came home and opened my huge windows and sat in front on my hundreds of years old chair (probably) eating hummus in the dark and observing the night. The clouds are perpetually pink because of the city lights. I tried to think what this could symbolize or what it could be a metaphor for ... Sara Jarman told me that she is also so homesick in Moscow and is attempting to cure it by writing love poetry.

Today I went to lunch with everyone in the office, it was fun. I sat by Raymond under his insistence, he's the boss who scares the crap out of me ... but he was nice and I realized that I can now hold normal conversation in French and not look like an idiot. Raymond told me about which wines should be refridgerated and which shouldn't, also that it's best to put wine in a carafe 2 hours before it is served. The guy next to me let me keep taking bites of his TarTar or whatever it's called ... raw beef. It was so delicious but everyone kept making fun of me because I'm a vegetarienne and made a big deal about getting my pasta without ham. Whatever.

Went to the amazing bookstore again tonight ... I really think I almost collapsed from overenthusiasm. They had the version of Eugene Onegin I have really really really really wanted and can not find ANYWHERE, 2 volumes translated by Nabokov with extensive commentary ... gah. I almost cried. I bought a great book of poems I need to help me write my paper on the Gates of Hell. I think I would travel to Paris just to go to that bookstore.