“i love you longer than ‘the instructions.’”

mattie is in denmark.

i am alone with my kimchi tofu soup.

we are a bookworm*s*!

we went to stowe, vermont for the weekend. we looked out the window at several mountains.

three hundred twelve rooms. we were the only people who did not ski. i brought a one-piece bathing suit which i did not use and got a massage after which my neck got stiffer.

cheers to inflexibility, inactivity, and hotel brunches!

oh!…you have that poop pod disease…

all hail the hot pot.

yes: seltzer; no: biscotti

you do not hate yourself? you want to open the blinds? take a walk? sauté that vegetable? visit that museum? really? it is just because i am a resident, right? someday i will want to see the sun again? sometimes the things you do are also mediocre? i am weary and have a headache…tense…apprehensive. i have no vigor to make it better. i am waiting…and eating pinkberry…and hoping…

i cannot move into a hotel…my hair is thinning…there are three more years of in house call to come…i cannot move to san francisco just so that i can go to napa valley on the weekend…i have backfat…i have no child…and mattie is leaving again…

i feel like going back to bluffton…

…and eating grilled oysters.

cheers to uninterrupted sleep, the impending upheaval, and auberge resorts.

yes: croissant; no: wharfs

mattie has been away. he played twelve concerts in thirteen days in illinois, iowa, north dakota, nebraska, kansas, oklahoma, arkansas, and missouri. i picked him up at laguardia airport. we said hello and then drove to flushing, queens where we ate a dozen crab and pork soup dumplings, bamboo shoots, and scallion noodles.

i am very glad that mattie is home.

foley in the hole!

as residency whines along i become more and more disengaged. i have frozen yogurt delivered. i have three day headaches. i wear sweatpants. i lack compassion. i desire sleep, a doorman, and more chihuahuas. mattie must come home. i sense devastation all around me and i experience nothing. i complete tasks and i repeat. i am anesthetized. i am unprepared. i am guilty.

but…my fears are falsehoods and i am privileged. i recall the bone marrow at ad hoc and find reason to toddle forward.

pre-cremasteric age

the sky was gray and wet with wind today. there is hope. i carry on my confidential campaign against the sun. may you fall out of the sky and leave me in a still beige shady cocoon.

solar battle shot number one:

solar battle shot number two:

“i thought i felt some kind of ripping at breakfast.”

we are on vacation.

advisable holiday activities:
strawberry pancakes…

…cappuccinos…

…newspapers…

…adobado tacos…

…naps.

not advisable holiday activities:
nature.

yes: brunch; no: team-building exercises

i think about a new floor lamp. consider going to the gym. envision climbing into bed. breakfast nooks. well fitting bras. walnuts. painted walls. i mourn things that do not exist and i am disenchanted in advance. i cannot recall the beginning. it is always the same. hesitancy and chaos are the devices for conviction and i am weak as we are paused in waiting.

i eat for distraction…

…and imagine what might have been.

yes: pedal steel guitar; no: chiropractors

“may i please have a piece of bacon to sit on?”