saturday: parents. my birthday. dinner. lucia di lammermoor at the met (not dessay). possibly the pepsico sculpture garden, or the bronx botanical gardens for some japanese chrysanthemums.
things seem joyless, grey around the edges. the change of weather, flipflopping crisp and warm, makes my bones creak. maybe fleeing the scene of this life is the solution. for now, i'll read more allende and the time-traveler's wife to steal me away from the earth.
i tried love in a time of cholera, but it didn't stick; of love and shadows on the other hand, was almost epic. i almost think what irene and francisco have doesn't exist in the real world. it's that much more beautiful on the page.
below: kiku, queen of Japanese flowers.
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