Stuffy nosed and sore throated, I peel myself off the bed and make my way slowly to my doctor's little office where he keeps magazines in the waiting room, that I devour like candy. I like the poetic text of a seller of watches.
And I also love the outfit of a black jacket with breasts partly exposed that I notice midway through the March Madame. I've loved this look forever but I've never had the nerve to rock it.
It's a bit too modest for the office, so that's out.
I add to the unofficial list of wonderful things, some little ditty to wear a shirtless suit. The Beyoncé and Jay-Z concert in July? Perhaps, perhaps.
Dr G., my salt and pepper haired médecin (heaps of salt, touch of pepper) tells me I have a sinus infection.
These last few days when I felt light headed, I thought maybe I was actualizing, reaching some deeper level of understanding the world and myself.
But it turns out I just had stuffed sinuses.
I hate it when that happens.