Something was obviously up with me and my usual non-use of pockets in Paris … because the above is what I dug out of my classic black go-to Lulu jacket {the pockets, that is} this morning.

And just like that … the innocence of pulling museum and métro tickets out … felt like I was pulling out weighted bricks that I then might as well have dropped on my toes.

Slammed slammed and slammed some more.

What the hell is it about these little things anyway that does us in like that?

The métro stubs are one thing … but this museum “receipt” … from the Musée Jacquemart André?

This is in a whole other realm.

I don’t believe I ever even got to tell you about my afternoon there … oh that glorious afternoon, where I was then stuck in line at the post office for 35+ minutes.

I leave at plus, because when I reached the 35 minute mark, I was so pissed, I decided I better stop counting and staring at my iphone every two minutes.

I then, however, decided that I’d rather be stuck in a post office in Paris than anywhere else … so win-win for me. And, what is it about post offices, that even guarantee long waits across international waters? Is this a Universal postal guarantee? Did I somehow miss the memo on this?

Right around the corner from la poste, I discovered the Eglise Saint Philippe du Roule. And OMFG, it was another moment where I pretty much had the whole place to myself.

Just sitting there, candles lit around me … I remember feeling the serenity of those candles … that gorgeous light, casting shadows upon the old stone walls … as though they became their very own prayer … and maybe they were.

Dancing, flickering prayers. And it made me wonder … how does God do it? The Universe, too? All of these hopes and prayers and desires and wanting wanting wanting. Praying praying praying. Do you think God ever gets stressed out? Wishing maybe a few million of us would shut the F up for an hour.

Or is it that God doesn’t need to be recharged like us humans?

Yes, this was my grand philosophical debate as I sat there.

But back to André, as I so lovingly refer to the museum as. This way I feel like the museum has become my very own personal friend and for the record – André really was a real person {first name Edouard though}.

Which leaves me with delusional thoughts … like maybe André will invite me to stay a while. Or at least serve me dinner with white gloves … that’s the least that could happen, right? Really, now!

Because, People, this is my kind of place. André knew what was up when he built his sweeping mansion and basically redesigned and modernized all of Paris while he was at it.

You could have left me in the courtyard for life and I would have been happy … right next to the Egyptian Sphinx’s guarding the place.

I snagged an open bench next to them and did a very French thing — stretched out for a sieste. Relaxed. Stared up at the breathtaking, open, blue sky. Watching clouds float by.

Oh, and the Egyptian Sphinx’s … well, turns out I caught the last day of the entire Egyptian exhibit going on there. Yeah, I was pretty much in heaven. Surrounded by rare works of Egyptian art and artifacts. I might have even sneaked taking a picture or seven.

Hey! There were like 10 other people doing it, and yes, I will completely give into peer pressure in these sorts of circumstances. Alas, they are in iphone heaven now.

I think maybe this afternoon … I’ll go stretch out on a bench here. Stare up at the sky. Slow down a bit.

And think of André.