When he came into the office today, he brought with him the smell of bacon and eggs.
"André, why do you smell like breakfast?"
He laughed and told me it wasn't him. But it was him and I knew it. I have a heightened sense of smell and minutes later, when Sarah from publicity walked by, I asked her if she'd shampooed her hair this morning -she had- because the smell had enveloped me from across the room (one of the things I miss about having long hair is that aura of clean fragrance that hovers around your scalp).
André returned awhile later, "You were right! The bacon and eggs, it's from the 2nd floor."
"I knew it! I have superwoman olfactory glands! It's like, if not for smoking cigarettes I would smell too much; I would just be too overwhelmed." (I'll look for any any excuse to continue a bad habit.)
André looked down at his electronic signature pad then back at me with a huge smile stretched across his jaw. In his thick French accent he said, "I keep thinking 'Are you real'?"
That question is the way to my heart. J'adore.
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I'm getting back into philosophy and phenomenology. Now that I'm on a sober kick, I can finally read for more than 5 minute intervals without spacing out every time I see something shiny. Having been a voracious reader since I could hold a book, my inability to focus as of late was the cause of much much much distress and anxiety. Things are good now! My brain is like a freshly released Bonsai kitten, all deep stretches and expansion. So now I begin to exercise my bourgeois right and delve into the contemplation of existence. Sweet relief.
Am IN LOVE with this pic of de Beauvoir and Sartre:
