The madness of it all

I'm in a tailspin. We return to the States next Tuesday and are jamming and cramming in all that we can of what's left on the table. Yesterday's visit to the Palace of Versailles necessitated me staying up late last night brushing up on Marie Antoinette. I must say, my opinion of the her has changed. Clearly, in spite of the totally over the top, outrageous wealth and privilege she enjoyed, the lady was framed during the Reign of Terror. Even her 10 year-old son died a horrible death alone in a dark, filthy dungeon. At least Robespierre, the teabagger type lawyer/politician and one of the instigators of the Reign of Terror, eventually fell into the jaws of the guillotine. It was pure poetic justice that this coward's unsuccessful suicide attempt simply shattered his jaw. For a lawyer, not being able to have the last word is worse than death. The bastard's head was chopped off the next day by the same guillotine that decapitated Marie Antoinette.

Today we go to the Musée d'Orsay. I'm going crazy without downtime. We're out breakfast to bed. I'm drowning in photos. I can't catch a breath. I know. Luxury problem. March me to the guillotine. I'm not asking for sympathy. I'm just howling before launching into action. It's embarrassing. What can I say? It will pass. And, of course, I'm grateful for this fabulous opportunity, even though I've been lock step with my dear, (very) covertly insatiable mother-not-in-law and my darling beloved for two fucking months. Soon enough, my world will shrink back to the Bird Park and I will be writing about who came by for breakfast but today it's off to the d'Orsay. Wednesday is their late night so, of course, we'll be out late again.

Thankfully, there is a small reprieve on our departure so I actually have a bit of time to sit down here and write. Lucky all around. I really needed a little time off. I'll cut my fingernails on the way to the bus.