The original idea with coming to Paris for a month was to try and live here. By that I mean I didn't want to feel obligated to see touristy sights every day or overwhelm myself with museums. I wanted to cook in our apartment, explore the lesser known parts of the City, and maybe get to know the boulanger across the street. But that hasn't really happened. Most of the time I still feel like I'm here temporarily and obliged to get up and out the door every morning. At least, until yesterday. Yesterday I felt very much not on vacation — I've come down with a cold, needed to go to the grocery store, and had three loads of laundry to do. Nothing says "home" like sickness and chores.