a misnomer based on my reading of it...

It wasn’t supposed to go this way, but I’ve found a really crappy way to start the new year. I started reading Home Comforts, the old Cheryl Mendelson heavy-duty how-to about everything I don’t do that I picked up for a song at Chop Suey Books pre-Christmas thinking it would at the very least give me fodder for more RHOME columns forever and ever. Maybe even make me make my bed and make my home office less frightening to the other inhabitants of my home. I paired that with plowing through Joan Didion’s Blue Nights. The result is feeling instantly and utterly inadequate, inconsiderate, possibly even inhuman (because I could barely stand Didion’s book–even accounting for her rotten situation and even though I had been moved and awed by The Year of Magical Thinking), and certainly unclean.

Nowhere to go but up this year? Perhaps that was my strategy all along.

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