“One stomach flu away from my golden weight”
In the words of The Devil Wears Prada. It’s what I keep thinking, because people keep telling me that I’ve lost weight. They mean it as a compliment, so I try to be gracious, not one of my skills at the best of times. My feeble efforts are considerably preferable to saying what is in my head, which is approximately the following: yes, it’s my steady diet of misery, caffeine, stress and chocolate. Right now I’m nauseous and I’ve slept about four hours, and today is a pretty good day, because at least I didn’t lie awake because of anxiety.
It’s all both true and not true. On Friday I saw a debate on zombies versus unicorns, Saturday I bought books and barley tea with a friend, and Sunday was all about crepes and more books. How bad can things really be?
I’m listening to Beirut, and this music really does sound like Beirut Unvisited, like eastern Europe in the sixties, like memories of French beaches.
So much to be grateful for. So much to be haunted by. So perhaps this is the perfect song.