I had the most wonderful, sensual, exciting, beautiful weekend. I felt so incredibly alive. Awakened. As though until now I had been merely sleepwalking through my life.
Now, back in Paris, back at my desk, nose streaming with a summer cold that manifested itself on the train journey home, I wish I didn’t feel like I simply dreamed it all.
I wish that Mr Frog hadn’t been sick this morning and bombarded me with distressing emails all day. I feel his pain, but I think I am the last person who can help.
It seems that there can be no happiness without guilt and remorse. No pleasure without anguish.
It almost feels like I’m being punished. Divine retribution.