so anyway, when that happens, you need good coping mechanisms, right? While I would love to hear yours, you have to read about mine first, because of the neediness. And it's my blog. Herewith, how I made sour watery lemonade out of this major lemon of a day:
- After 3 (three!) scary days of fiction misfires (Andrew Solomon, your little novel started out with promise until I realized you were the same guy who had an unabashedly tacky gay wedding featured in the Times. There is forgivenes, and then there is shame for one's people), I jumped on the bandwagon of Jonathan Franzen's Freedom. Heavens to Murgatroyd the man can write (and be all evocative about place; it almost makes you like St. Paul). I will see you all in two weeks when I'm finished.
- Luckily I made a batch of the nuns' good chocolate chip cookies. After panicking at the thought of eating five dozen cookies myself, I gave many away. Even more luckily, I was not so stupid as to give them all away. I had a little Rickie Lake moment about 3pm.
- White beans, rosemary, and greens. Enough cooking to feel virtuous, but not so much that I had to work for it. Thank you, cookbook project.
- Hard cider. No photo necessary.
- If you never sign out of your foster parents' Netflix account, you're always signed in. Season 4 of 30 Rock, you so funny.
- I totally thought about going for a run.
- I'm totally thinking about going for a walk. To Jackson's for black chocolate gelato. Because Liberty Custard is too far away. Dang, now I'm sad again . . .