The Louvre, She Is Closed ...
Jun. 9th, 2009 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchanI was thinking about my honeymoon today. We went to Paris and London. I remember how excited I was, as it was my first time traveling that far. My first time traveling outside the US. Heck, at that point in my life, the only place I had been outside of Texas was Louisiana. (And they're basically neighbors. >.O) One of the things I was the most excited about was seeing the Louvre. The Louvre!! In person!! I could hardly believe it -- me, a little country-bumpkin of a person, getting to see all that amazing artwork for real, instead of looking at pictures of it in books.
Sadly, it was not to be. When we arrived in Paris, there was a strike. I'm not sure if it was a strike of all city employees ... all museum workers ... or what. But, it was clear that said strike included everyone who worked at the Louvre. It was closed; the doors, locked tight.
Every day, hubby and I would get up, eat breakfast, and walk down to the museum. We would mill around outside as the sun made its presence known in Paris's wintry-gray sky. We weren't alone. There must have been hundreds of other people there -- if not thousands -- all standing around together, unified by our common purpose. As opening time neared, people began to stir. Everyone looked toward the doors, waiting for some sign that today would be the day. The day where our art fantasies and perfect-trip dreams would finally come true. Slowly, the front door opened, and a man appeared. The crowd surged forward, breathless with anticipation and excitement, only to hear ...
"THE STRIKE, SHE IS ON. THE LOUVRE, SHE IS CLOSED!"
To this day, the closest I've come to the Louvre is the nose and hand prints I probably left on the glass as I pressed myself up against it, trying to catch just one glimpse of what was inside.
Ah ... good times. Good times.
So today, my brain is kind of like that. It's in that running-on-automatic-expending-the-least-effort-possible phase at the moment. Just kinda chugging along. Chugga-chugga-chugga.
I've got things to do.
I need to continue the search for my daughter's passport, which is lost ... well, somewhere in our house. Sounds ridiculous, but our house has some black-hole tendencies, particularly because I have a lot of "help" when it comes to putting things away. I intended to strip everything off my desk today to make sure the passport didn't somehow get tossed in with a stack of papers or old bills or something. I need to clean off my desk, anyhow, so it seemed like a good chance to take out the proverbial two birds and all that.
I have Story #3 for my WK Ground Zero series plotted out. I even have notes down for it and everything. So, I need to get off my duff and begin working on that. I just know I could get it done in good time. If I could make myself sit down and work on the stupid thing, that is.
I have Midroc stories that need writing. I thought I would be at least halfway through book #2 by now. Instead, I've written and re-written the beginning paragraphs at least twenty times. Nothing feels right. Nothing fits. I tell myself I just need to let things percolate a bit more. That it'll all come in good time. It's still frustrating as hell, though.
And so, I tell my brain: "Brain, let's get moving. We've got things to do, after all."
And, from my Muses and my Inner Domestic Diva, I get a rousing reply of: "THE STRIKE, SHE IS ON. THE BRAIN ... SHE IS CLOSED!"
Oi.
Sadly, it was not to be. When we arrived in Paris, there was a strike. I'm not sure if it was a strike of all city employees ... all museum workers ... or what. But, it was clear that said strike included everyone who worked at the Louvre. It was closed; the doors, locked tight.
Every day, hubby and I would get up, eat breakfast, and walk down to the museum. We would mill around outside as the sun made its presence known in Paris's wintry-gray sky. We weren't alone. There must have been hundreds of other people there -- if not thousands -- all standing around together, unified by our common purpose. As opening time neared, people began to stir. Everyone looked toward the doors, waiting for some sign that today would be the day. The day where our art fantasies and perfect-trip dreams would finally come true. Slowly, the front door opened, and a man appeared. The crowd surged forward, breathless with anticipation and excitement, only to hear ...
"THE STRIKE, SHE IS ON. THE LOUVRE, SHE IS CLOSED!"
To this day, the closest I've come to the Louvre is the nose and hand prints I probably left on the glass as I pressed myself up against it, trying to catch just one glimpse of what was inside.
Ah ... good times. Good times.
So today, my brain is kind of like that. It's in that running-on-automatic-expending-the-least-effort-possible phase at the moment. Just kinda chugging along. Chugga-chugga-chugga.
I've got things to do.
I need to continue the search for my daughter's passport, which is lost ... well, somewhere in our house. Sounds ridiculous, but our house has some black-hole tendencies, particularly because I have a lot of "help" when it comes to putting things away. I intended to strip everything off my desk today to make sure the passport didn't somehow get tossed in with a stack of papers or old bills or something. I need to clean off my desk, anyhow, so it seemed like a good chance to take out the proverbial two birds and all that.
I have Story #3 for my WK Ground Zero series plotted out. I even have notes down for it and everything. So, I need to get off my duff and begin working on that. I just know I could get it done in good time. If I could make myself sit down and work on the stupid thing, that is.
I have Midroc stories that need writing. I thought I would be at least halfway through book #2 by now. Instead, I've written and re-written the beginning paragraphs at least twenty times. Nothing feels right. Nothing fits. I tell myself I just need to let things percolate a bit more. That it'll all come in good time. It's still frustrating as hell, though.
And so, I tell my brain: "Brain, let's get moving. We've got things to do, after all."
And, from my Muses and my Inner Domestic Diva, I get a rousing reply of: "THE STRIKE, SHE IS ON. THE BRAIN ... SHE IS CLOSED!"
Oi.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-10 03:38 am (UTC)-dies a happy fan girl-
(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-10 03:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-10 06:36 pm (UTC)