Humpday–governed by this week’s best friend Mercury–tends to be my least favorite day of the week. As a writer, I feel terrible anxiety when it rolls around, a compulsion to write the Most Beautiful Thing that unsurprisingly often goes awry. With Mercury retrograde already looming and the Gemini full moon still radiating its glow, I figured last night would be best if “kept simple, stupid.” I got acupunked; then, clad in layers of fur and legwarmers, wandered through my Italian-American neighborhood, admiring the Christmas lights it does so right. Ella Fitzgerald came on my shuffle a lot, which was a good sign in terms of seriously garbled cheer; take that, wordsmith Mercury! After emerging from a Vine Wine burgundy tasting, I felt like I’d finally made my peace. “Hello, old pal,” I actually said aloud upon seeing this snow globe of a frenemy moon.
I’ve been quiet because I don’t want to preach to the choir and I don’t want to be preached to, and right now all other posts seem frivolous, even I can see that. But this morning I’m up early after two consecutive weeks of late nights. My hair is up in curlers, my zit is smeared with a Vitamin E salve, and I’m drinking coffee while watching my neighborhood wake up through the bedroom window. Continue Reading →
I’m not minding how lazy the sun is this time of year. It gives me an excuse to wake a little less aggressively. This morning, I slept until 6:30—nuts in my book—and only rose then because Grace took matters in her own paws and woke me herself. Lest you think she was mean about it, “waking me” means she settled softly into my chest and patted me softly on the cheek. Continue Reading →