it's been a blustery, snowy day here in mississauga. the kind of day that makes you happy in the knowledge that you don't have to leave the house...which i didn't. i've been holed up here in my new home all day, and it's been bliss.

this day has had an unofficial theme, however, at least for me, and the theme for the day is how much i miss paris. it's been 582 days since i last set foot there, and the close of this year is reminding me of the promise i made to myself to go back...and how i could not make that promise come true this year. i know that in 105 days i will be there, but today it's not helping.

to intensify the matter, tonight, i watched, for the first time, the 1951 movie An American In Paris, and believe that i now have a new favorite. while watching the movie i was reading Adam Gopnik's book, Paris To The Moon, and coincidentally enough, in the pages i was reading, he actually referred to the movie. very Twilight Zone-ish.

all this leads me to a question that has been haunting me all day:

how can one be homesick for a place one has not only never lived, but also has never spent more than five days in?


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