THINGS I LOVED/HATED THIS WEEK #246

I feel like a Robber Baron of the Gilded Age as I shout to my lights to turn off and go on and set themselves to ridiculous intensity levels like, “ALEXA! Put the lounge lights at 17%!! Hurry!” Instead of complaining, the lights just go to the requested level and a shot of glee courses directly through my body. It’s like having a household staff that is either made up of ghosts or is so efficient that they are never noticed. And I fully understand how unnecessary it is, truly I do, but I’m never going back. I want to remove the light switches from my house. They’re superfluous now and ugly and I don’t want them bothering my aesthetics!

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MEXICO CITY: Adios Jessica!

The other people watched me go with a mixture of shock and awe. They were more than willing to wait the rain out, and as I reflect on this day, I don’t know why I was so unwilling. I was determined to get home for some reason. There was probably some food for me there that I was looking forward to gorging myself on. That’s really the most reasonable conclusion. So I stuck my poor little suede boots outside of the protection of the Palacio and nearly gasped as the weight of the water crushed me.

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THINGS I LOVED/HATED THIS WEEK #215

I felt quite drunk on sunshine. It was intoxicating. I couldn’t stop smiling. The sounds (the half that I could hear since I’m deaf now) and colors and the breeze blowing through my hair was everything I have been needing. I have been so bleak lately, but this hour out in the countryside restored a great chunk of who I used to be. I sat decadently in a nearby cemetery and watched as the sun sank into barren fields. The heavens were a riot of color and it felt like I had been thrust into an impressionistic painting. I felt quite alive.

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THINGS I LOVED/HATED THIS WEEK #210

I have a doozy of a story to share with you today. Martha Stewart is one of the icons in my life that I look up to every single day. If I can ever be a bit more like her, I’ll find a way to do that. Whenever I’m tidying and redoing my house, I’m thinking, what will Martha think when she comes over? It’s absurd, reader. Martha is never coming to my house for lunch, but I terrorize myself into order at the thought of it happening. This has been a commonplace scenario in my mind since the summer of 2008 when I saw my first episode of Martha’s daytime talk show.

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THINGS I LOVED/HATED THIS WEEK #207

I don’t care how beautiful you think puffy piles of crystalline snow are. I don’t care about your cozy sweaters and your hot tea and your crackling fires. I don’t care about skiing or or parkas or that Scandinavian concept of Hygge that all the hipsters and wine moms have adopted. I don’t want anything to do with it. To me, as I’m sure you know, winter is a hellish misery of frozen doors and chilled fingers and darkness and eternal misery.

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