This morning, somewhere between hitting the snooze button for the eighth and ninth time, I began to believe I would never make it out of bed. I sunk deeper beneath the sheets; wrapping my legs tightly around each other I touched cold toes to warm calf. Then switched.
I visualized myself playing hooky, and embracing a Day in the Life of my pillow. After all, from its perspective there lies no adversity, no conflict, no turmoil – only a heavy head expecting nothing but silent comfort.
I got up, though. I went to work, ate a fine meal, hewed to my mother’s thrifting ways and got a helluva (is that you, Holden Caulfield?) discount on a Banana Republic necklace, sang some Russian, played some Russian, and vanquished the frenetic mold that ever so rudely invited itself into my apartment. I lived my Monday. I am alive.
The theme below still applies, especially with Anna Palma’s brilliant photographs as visual support.
And a couple to tout something other than the tots. Man, she’s good.
wave parade 