I realized last night that I dislike the month of January–but not so much because it heralds the end of the holiday season, but rather because the name of the month itself is a somewhat unattractive word. January. January. Say it enough times, and you’ll see what I mean.  If I had to pick a favorite month-name, I think it would be September. (September, however, is not my favorite month.)

My resolution this year is to become Queen of the Universe. Since
whatever resolution I make will probably not be kept, anyways, I see no
harm in aiming high.

I’ve spent the afternoon in bed watching Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth, making a grocery list, painting my nails aquamarine, and trying not to think about unpacking from our trip to Florida. I suppose I will have to surrender, eventually, to the task.

I have absolutely no idea what day of the week it is. But Happy New Year, all the same!

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