Weekly Journal 9.14.26
Reading
I was reading an excellent short story collection by Lauren Groff, called Florida, but I set it aside because there was so much darkness to it. The stories were not scary, gory, or overly dramatic; rather, they featured characters going through episodes of isolation and existential questioning. It just got too heavy after a while.
I'm now reading Nora Ephron's Wallflower at the Orgy and I have several books lined up to read on vacation.
Watching
I enjoyed the first episode of A Killer Story on HBO. It feels different than the other true crime shows I've overindulged in before. The crime junkie couple at the center of the show are odd, and I can't tell how altruistic their motives are. I'm curious if some twist about them will be revealed later.
Cooking
I made spaghetti sauce from a bowlful of San Marzano tomatoes that I picked the day before from our garden. It was delightfully sweet. I only regretted that I didn't have enough garlic to add to it.
Doing
Occasionally I'm at odds with myself about traveling solo, away from my partner and child. In my head I really hype up the escapism of it all. I get excited for that moment when I reach a no-turning-back point between my house and the airport, when I'm singing in the car and my responsibilities dissolve in the rearview mirror. My mind fills with images of all the things I'm about to indulge in: restaurants for every meal, hours of leisure time, a fragrantly clean hotel bed to myself, a complete lack of schedule except for my flight and the events to which I have tickets in my destination city.
Then I remember what really happens when I'm alone on vacation. Sometimes in the middle of a day, or toward the end of a trip, I become a little restless and less able to absorb the experience at hand. I become unsure of where to go next. Hopping from barstool to coffeeshop chair to restaurant table suddenly seems tiring. I text my husband a lot, and take comfort in video chatting with him and our son when we're in compatible time zones.
At its worst, this can turn into a sort of ennui, which spurs a feeling of guilt about not enjoying my trip to the umpteenth degree, which continues the vicious cycle.
It rarely gets quite that bad, but there does seem to be a limit to how much I can enjoy a travel destination without a companion. The very fact that I can savor both my family time and away time is a sign that I've lucked into a great life.
Listening
My friend Evelyn told me, years ago, that she was surprised to be enjoying Harry Styles when her usually preferred genres were in the realm of indie rock. I've recently found myself enjoying Harry too.