Today’s rain is gorgeous, romantic, voluptuous. This is weather for journaling, dreaming, lolling against pillows, chewing on the end of your pencil, basking in black-and-white films. For listening to nature work hard outside your window, and for slowly, slowly sipping lavender-earl grey tea. It is a day for making love, for writing letters by hand, for choosing colors to paint your someday house. But because I am an alleged grownup and have far more rigorous activities scheduled today, I shall now pour a gallon of coffee down my gullet. IV administration may be advisable.
Yellow, yellow, not so mellow. A friend snapped this picture of me yesterday as I was striding to meet her for brunch. I love it. It seems the quintessential image of Summer 2015, which is turning out to be chockablock with the kind of challenges that will define the rest of my decade for better and worse. Yellow is the color of the third chakra, which is all about gut instincts, personal transformation, will power, and grownup-lady warrior energy. Yes, yes, yes, yes.
Got up early this morning, as is my wont, and realized I was out of coffee beans and half and half. I actually didn’t panic. I figured I’d fetch my coffee at Fairway, where I was heading for my weekly shop. But somehow in my joy over fresh bagels and empty aisles (it was very early), I forgot. And then, after putting away my groceries, felt so inexplicably sad and sleepy and headachy that I climbed back into bed. I woke up six hours later totally discombobulated until I realized: WAIT! THAT WAS MY BRAIN ON NO COFFEE! Did I take this as a sign that I was a rabid drug addict? That I should, oh, address the proverbial monkey on my back? I did not. Instead, I wobbled down to Oslo Coffee Roasters, drank a four-shot Americano, and celebrated the return of my personality by making three billion lists and two new friends. All hail the power of legal drugs.
Today’s rain is gorgeous, romantic, voluptuous. This is weather for journaling, dreaming, lolling against pillows, chewing on the end of your pencil, basking in black-and-white films. For listening to nature work hard outside your window, and for slowly, slowly sipping lavender-earl grey tea. It is a day for making love, for writing letters by hand, for choosing colors to paint your someday house. But because I am an alleged grownup and have far more rigorous activities scheduled today, I shall now pour a gallon of coffee down my gullet. IV administration may be advisable.
Got up early this morning, as is my wont, and realized I was out of coffee beans and half and half. I actually didn’t panic. I figured I’d fetch my coffee at Fairway, where I was heading for my weekly shop. But somehow in my joy over fresh bagels and empty aisles (it was very early), I forgot. And then, after putting away my groceries, felt so inexplicably sad and sleepy and headachy that I climbed back into bed. I woke up six hours later totally discombobulated until I realized: WAIT! THAT WAS MY BRAIN ON NO COFFEE! Did I take this as a sign that I was a rabid drug addict? That I should, oh, address the proverbial monkey on my back? I did not. Instead, I wobbled down to Oslo Coffee Roasters, drank a four-shot Americano, and celebrated the return of my personality by making three billion lists and two new friends. All hail the power of legal drugs.