[sorry for the dearth of blog posts for a couple days; there were connectivity issues then there were a couple days when “blogging” was replaced by “eating” and “having a break” and “making fun with real humans”]

As If I needed to “give myself permission” ever, but I am allowed to to whatever the hell I want this weekend. Sleep late, mosey to SF at my own pace, stop in for bacon at a friend’s parental house, eat at a French restaurant at 8pm, drink until googly-eyed at a very old bar, order pie when already full, flirt with a guy in the truck next to me at the 7/11, tease my friends, marvel at the empty city, marvel (with judgment) at the thanksgiving night line ups in front of stores, cry a little, flirt with a baby, not photograph or write about a damn thing, tell the Frenchman I’m drunk, shirk duties, avoid family, sing loudly to the Talking Heads the whole trip, regale with stories about my very evil 20s, laugh.

Not necessarily in that order.