Carlito Carvalhosa's Sum of Days. MoMA. NYC.
At this very moment, I'm curled up in a loose, long sleeve cashmere sweater. To my left is my living room window through which, if I strain my eyes just enough, I can make out the soft summer rain painting the grey of Lexington Avenue into an ash black.
My plan on this remarkably cool (73 degrees!) summer Friday was to spend the afternoon at the Whitney. Instead, I am pitifully at home with a tummy full of the most delicious Indian food you can get in Curry Hill. There might be some pistachio gelato in there, too. Um. And coconut sorbet. Don't judge.
I'm having trouble sitting up straight, or walking, or burping, for that matter. Like a clumsy fool, I took a slippery fall this morning when reaching for a towel from the bathtub. I broke my fall on the side of the tub, against my rib cage right under my breast. Of all places to land, you know? And so gracefully, at that. I'm lucky I didn't break anything. I'm left with a tenderness around my rib cage I've not experienced before. The soreness stops me sharply every time I take a step, every time I reach for something, every time I laugh. Nothing a little ice pack can't cure, I hope.
May your Friday be way more fun than mine.