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Sniffling in the City

A beautiful view from the balcony of Bibliothèque François Mitterand
Hello!

I am writing this from the depths of a terrible cold. I guess that it isn't entirely surprising that I'm sick; I can hear people sniffling and sneezing throughout the metro, and this is my first extended stay in a cold climate. But, it is definitely frustrating that I set some semi-adventurous goals on Sunday and then was sick by Tuesday. My host mom took me to the pharmacy, recounted my symptoms to the pharmacist in detail, and had me buy a substantial amount of cold medicine. She was very insistent that "You take medicine, and, if the medicine doesn't help, you go to the doctor". I guess that this is what life is like in a country with an affordable health care system? Since I don't have any pre-existing conditions that could be affected by a cold, I would never go to the doctor for a cold. I've only barely come around to taking medication for colds, and even that is as a supplement to my inherited method of Powering Through It and Letting Your Body Do Its Job.

The Saint Michel metro station sign, a relic of France's art deco period

On Wednesday, I was running late for school when I had two of the most harrowing Only in a Parisian Metro experiences. Firstly, as I was rushing to my metro platform, I saw a badly injured man sitting against the wall with a few people helping him to hold towels to his head and managing the situation. I couldn't figure out how he had gotten injured, but his head was clearly bleeding quite badly. There were a couple people standing uselessly and watching the situation unfold with mouths agape. I decided that the first responders didn't need a twenty-year old with no medical training or experience crowding them while they helped this man, so I (very guiltily) walked on by. Then, just as I was about to take the escalator down to catch my metro, I saw a man running around helplessly while wearing a blanket and not much else. He clearly needed financial resources and additional support that I was ill-equipped to provide, so, once again, I guiltily rushed past.

An aesthetic look at my daily walk to the metro station

As you can probably tell, guilt is a big part of my existence both here and in the United States. I always feel guilty avoiding people in need, especially after deciding to start giving money to beggars and then continuing to ignore them. The thought of walking up to someone and handing them money makes me incredibly anxious. Since I don't have the ability (financially or practically) to give money to give money to every beggar I see, I find myself worrying about my own inadequate abilities to determine who is deserving of financial aid.

Site of my regular trips to look longingly at stationary

I feel like this post and the post before it have such a negative bent, but I assure you that I enjoy my life in Paris most of the time. I have visited the library a couple times, and returned occasionally to browse the papeterie section of Gibert Jeune. (On one memorable Gibert Jeune trip, I spent at least 30 minutes browsing and left with a single highlighter.) I have started simplifying my bullet journalling style, which (as with any minor bullet journal change) has inspired a sort of ~bullet journal renaissance~. I found a British grocery store called Marks and Spencer today, which had many American-style food options. (Do I normally buy lime salsa flavored tortilla chips? No. Did I act as though they were the most flavorful food in the universe? Of course.) Even though I am sick, this week hasn't been entirely wretched. I want to be honest about this experience as it unfolds, even if I have to recount some bad days.
Please enjoy today's self-care based daily log.
Au revoir,
Lydia
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