Five Flights and a Murakami Book

Two months ago I started work again after an August spent relaxing at home in the US.

collage from instagram: bedroom, cake, pool with floaty toys, colorful cliff on lake, girl standing in lake
Summer in Michigan




September and October have flown by. In September there were another two weeks of travel across continents. Rome > Paris > Nairobi > Abjidan > Dakar > Paris > Rome. In October my dad came for a visit, which included a midnight serenade of Ostiense. Things I have experienced in the past couple months include: 1) a pink lake; 2) the Lounge in both Paris and Dakar; 3) a perpetually screaming taxi driver with a backwards cell phone; 4) surfing in the ocean amongst red algae; and 5) dancing all night in Nairobi. And in the meanwhile I was working like a crazy person. It’s a good life, but it’s definitely not relaxing.

Collage: inside a taxi, spiny tree, island from a boat, tattooed woman with stripy hat near pink lake, sky and lifeguard stand, surf boards
September adventures.



I’ve been re-watching Battlestar Galactica with a new sense of awe. The first time I watched, I most identified with Kara Thrace: angry, lost, talented and hardworking but also on a quick path to self destruction. This time I identify with President Laura Roslin: responsibility she never asked for, power she didn’t want. The exhaustion of always moving forward.


Music that gets me ready to go every morning. Namely, this playlist.

I bought

I bought t-shirts and a mug. It’s like I suddenly discovered that there is a whole world of TV merchandise out there.

“Mulder it’s me” and “Kiss the librarian”…points if you get the reference.


I finished Haruki Murakami’s Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. I don’t have anything to say about it. Normally I love Murakami. But sometimes books just aren’t right for us. They don’t tell us what we need to hear in the right moment. I think I am just no longer used to forcing myself into the mind of a man for 500 pages.

Mad about

His name starts with Donald and ends with Trump. We are all mad, all of us, except that core of crazy to the right that has brought him this far, along with the acquiescence of the somewhat more sane and the much more powerful. Some of us are mad for the right reasons. Michelle Obama knows what the right reasons are. She knows how men like Mr. D make us feel, how they can cripple us at work, or at least suck up the last ounces of energy we wanted to use on kicking ass in that presentation.

I keep having nightmares my ballot won’t be counted.

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