Thursday. What a Concept.

Maybe it’s because the one time I was chill in life… things went very badly. Or maybe it’s just this week that’s always an anxious-existential-emotional stewpot for me.

Let’s review…  Sunday: you began with so much outlandish bliss… it’s like that Esthero song from the perennially underrated Down With Love. Everyone should live this song.

Monday gets even better at work… because sometimes you get a writing note that’s the fucking skeleton key to unlock all the bits you’ve been struggling with over a whole season of work. You bounce around the office with such long-legged joy until an assistant tells you have something on your chin and you realize it’s a chapped spot—a little soul patch where a potential squeeze may have kissed you too much just 24 hours prior. You moisturize.

Tuesday becomes slightly more laughable when said squeeze sends you this as a present… you love presents.

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And in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s trying to tell you something about himself… and/or whether (like Oprah or Toni) you should listen. OR maybe he’s just mistaken you for being wicked-green—when underneath it all you have intense lady-balls.

Wednesday comes and it’s the day when all the mythologies you built up about the one city you always thought would save you… and it still feels broken. It’s the day you shielded your kids from every media outlet possible, only to have them spout frighteningly uncanny observations the very next day. A few years later, this would also be the date your husband says, “I can’t do this anymore,” after just moving you to a brand new city where you neither like or know anyone. In the meantime, you look around at people whose marriages have endured… only to lose their love to a tragic illness while another couple (yes, they’re both writers) celebrates an anniversary in a way you now strangely long for…

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but only with someone who’s really true and good. It’s also a day where you read articles like this one and realize politics will always leave you befuddled and cynical.

And then, you get to Thursday… your assistant tells you the chafe on your chin has healed nicely and you realize after all these years, maybe your rag and bone heart has done so as well. And you think about dyeing your hair some autumnal shade… like Natasha’s. Can you still get away with it? You poll your girlfriends, who all hesitate…

I’m not sure yet…  Much work to do. Stay rad, lovelies – xoxo – gg

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