Why I could never be a journalist or a spy:

I had an incredibly day yesterday at a party with friends of friends. There was one man who had amazing stories to share about World War II, his family, and how he knew the Parisians and Jews hiding here after feeling Paris. I wondered so deeply if my family or this house was in his stories.

Unfortunately, he had been sworn to secrecy and it took a great deal of patience and wine to seduce the stories from him lips.

Even more unfortunately, I also partook in the wine required to elicit the stories, and now I can’t remember any of them.

So, aside from the exhilaration I remember feeling at the time of the stories, and the embarrassment I feel now for being so drunk yesterday, and the headache I’m dealing with today, I having nothing to show for my valiant efforts of digging for the truth.

I’m going to crawl back to bed now, thank you.