It’s really luxurious to have two weeks stretching out in front of me, but I feel at loose ends in the presence of luxury.  The snow’s pretty, but I can’t run in the snow, and when I can’t run I get crazy. I don’t actually enjoy slumping around the house in dirty sweat socks. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the gap between what people say they are like and what they actually do. Some people like to lead with their worst foot forward, and tell you all about the worst possible impression you can take from them, while actually doing something much better than what they tell you. It’s like they’re trying to prevent you from being disappointed. It’s an odd thing to grapple with, because you’re being asked to pretend that what’s in front of you, what you can plainly see, is something other than what it is. It’s like they’re blinded to what they look like by the chatter in their head. 

Personalities are performances, it seems.

I made hazelnut truffles last night and now have a large bottle of hazelnut liqueur to grapple with. Girly drinks and dirty sweat socks seem to be in my future. Rolling chocolate balls seemed dirty and wrong. But in the best of possible ways.