This photo may be a bit of a digression from the redeeming nothingness theme. I don't know why but saying I pickled small jars of ginger and carrots seems a bit more acceptable of an answer to the what did you do today question. Maybe that's because I'm a bad feminist (I think I'm quite a good one but... this kind of picture and musings makes my case a bit strained for most lean in types... really the whole concept here). I also plan on painting my nails, running to a health food store that carries a new type of natural deodorant that will probably fail. I'm tired of that weird taut, dry stickiness from toxic deodorant... but I know that I tire far far faster of sweat. Sitting in Washington Square park and writing. But only if the fountains on. I don't think it is yet. Maybe tomorrow? One thing (of many) that I love about not working is not having to fear or even consider wearing green on St. Patrick's Day or having to interact with idiots on April Fools Day.
In reality these plans are not likely because my appointment is in three hours and it takes half an hour to get to midtown from here, plus a stop at the bank to get cash for the co-pay. My stomach is in knots and I can't stop cursing to myself over the emails that I forgot to check and her tone when she told me about the 48 hour cancellation policy less than 24 hours before the appointment. Why would she say that? Does she want me to cancel? Sixty bucks is only twenty more than the co-pay so maybe it's worth it if she doesn't actually want to see me. But I will go. But I could not.
How I've spent the majority of the day is congratulating myself on getting up and about so promptly and making tea and toast (it takes less than five minutes to make that... with the radio by the stove... why don't I do that every morning?), AND pickling stuff. All of that was less than an hour. Then I had a second cup of tea while Charlie told me about his Iceland trip. And the rest of the day has been refreshing social media. And systematically unfollowing all the pregnant women.
