Stroking the Butterfly

For those with the faint of heart, please take caution when reading.

My recent depression has taken me pretty far off the chain. Its truly poetic. Everyday I wake up and my heart is broken a little more. I cant sleep. I cant stay awake. Im lost in a cloud that tends to haunt me wherever I go. Im tormented by my inner dialogue. I dont even know how to answer anymore. I cry. I yell. I get pissed. I watch too much Sex in the City and read too much chick lit. Its depressing.

My Mom says I need to be medicated.

I cant find anyone to blame and I cant find my dream. Where did it go? And to make matters worse, on top of this, I havent been able to write for shit lately. Weefee is one thing, but I think Ive been avoiding a connection at home, because well, I havent wanted to be connected.
I know. This is weird for me too. Its so not me and I cant imagine what you all must be thinking right now. How can she not be making it work? Designers, I'm just not. My thoughts are so lucid and fucking depressing Ive been avoiding pen to paper. Well with the exception of actually admitting how I feel and shaking down some thoughts on tear stained sheets of scratch paper once my bottle of wine has dwindled. Im like a paper-sacked hobo with better shoes and a nice apartment.

I succumb to a glass of dry, white cry. Again.

So what now? At the suggestion of a friend, I looked online to try to find a group of like-minded expats like myself. Theres got to be some people in Paris that are looking for some English American companionship right? Let me go back.

I have friends here. I have many French friends. They are great. They take me out to fun parties and dinners, and if ever there is someone in the group who is an English speaker, they are instantly at my hip. Most of the French love to practice their English. Its a sign of intelligence here, I think.
Anyway, they are all great, but its so much effort. Sometimes I just want to speak without having to think about it. Off the cuff, honest and probably a little sarcastic. My best self.

So I go to craigslist.org. to see whats out there. If anything Im sure I can find someone to amuse me with their own patheticness. Heres what I found. Actually Ill let the links below speak for themselves and you tell me...

Tea for Two
http://paris.en.craigslist.org/grp/700704086.html
Womyn???
http://paris.en.craigslist.org/grp/690962870.html

I know! What am I supposed to do with that? I dont care for tea and I cant be friends with a person who spells woman with a Y and demands sisterhood of me without even a thumbnail photo. Sorry its just not gonna happen. And theres others!Like wear a crazy Tshirt and meet at an Irish pub in Paris, treasure hunts and comedy shops... No thanks. Doesnt anyone just meet for a drink anymore? Arent there people out there who just like to meet after work for a cocktail?


If I wasnt so high up on my self pity high horse, I may consider posting an ad myself asking for just that. An American in Paris who likes to drink and sit on la terrace and chain smoke. Its the perfect ad really and had I not written it, (in theory of course) Id answer it in a heartbeat.


There was a recent bright side of the coin that came from an art showcase I attended with my friend Eva on Friday night. (Eva is a wonderful friend to me, who also happens to be my ex-boyfriend Nico's sister) So we are at the carousel at the Louvre for this Artist showcase. The show wasnt so great, but its a great opportunity for new and upcoming artists to show their work. Anyhoo, we are walking the show, champagne in hand, when I hear "Deaahnne! hey!" I look over and see this woman Natalie, whom Id met at another art party a few weeks back. Talented, charming and English speaking. She gave me a hug and we "ca va'd" and caught up for a few minutes. I introduced her to my friends and finally felt like I had contributed.

This my friends is what I live for. I miss being "the seen" on the "be seen scene." The one to know. The one to meet. I strive for recognition wherever I go, and obviously its difficult for me to have this here already. I can walk down rue de la roquette and get shout outs from every other shop keeper along the way, and thats nice, but this is social. This is my inner ego. I need my social butterfly stroked once in a while and I finally got it. It felt fantastic. This my friends, is how low I have gone. Thats all it takes these days-- Shout my name across a party and you've literally made my month.