Home now.

Was up super early to catch the TGV. I’ve had to sacrifice another day to the tax gods because I received a tax form late that I didn’t realize I even had to deal with. Bastards! Amended returns with checks are out the door tomorrow.

Been thinking a lot about a friend of The Frenchman with whom we ate dinner last night. (She made us a terrific home-cooked meal, lemon confit chicken with garlic, onions and potatoes.) She is doing the work of a saint. She’s teaching high school French language and literature up in Clichy-sous-Bois, the very suburbs where the riots broke out in October 2005. Her students are all extremely poor immigrants from 15 to 24 years old. An incredibly sweet lady, she’s obviously got the strength of legions. And get this: she loves her job. Loves it. She went to the top literary university in France. She didn’t have to do this.

And she apparently loved L.A. when she visited it.

Hopefully, writing for THRILLED will commence tomorrow. The agent is reading the Nerve article. I’m kinda hoping she thinks Nerve is too small for it, but she might concur that it’s just right for it, too. If it went anywhere else, though, I’d feel like my bikini top just dropped.

To bed.