somewhere in a woman's room there is always something, an object, a detail, that is her wholly and unapologetically

Eating and packing tonight, class at 9 am tomorrow, and leaving for Williamsburg right after that. I'll be back Sunday evening, I'm thinking.

Hopefully my poor horse won't be too lonely, and my karate and kendo friends will suffer through the slightly less entertaining atmosphere in the dojo and at the dinner table. It's not that I don't love you all dearly.

But right now, I'm all collapsey of tired.

And to answer the question you are thinking, no, I haven't decided what my object is yet. In looking around I realize I am disgustingly unattached to about 90% of the objects in my room. What I love is the glass - two round white wine classes, half-circle teacups, a spherical pom bottle, my elegant midsize French press. In fact, now that I look around, practically everything else seems to fall aside and I love these delicate, widelipped, rounded, thoroughly ungraceful things. One in particular is saying hello to me; I do believe I will keep it to myself tonight.

listening to: Gilmore Girls, season 7 finale
reading: French Word a Day // Kristin Espinasse