Ever since...well, a month ago, I can't seem to stop staring at the walls. I figure after Sandy, NancyNoreaster, my unusual workload and this very long election, I'm allowed to be out of my mind for a while. I'm sticking to those simple pleasures: talking to Dishbrother and father-in-law on the phone, ironing TG's shirts, picking out clothes for the next day, making the bed. Maybe Skyfall will resurrect me this weekend. Sure, Daniel Craig is my fave Bond, but it's not a love thing (maybe a little--I've adored him since Layer Cake). If you know the true Dish Psyche, the one that melts over all Die Hard, Lethal Weapon, Seagal, Van Dammness, you understand it's the testosterone-action-exploding-car-awesome-reflexes I can't live without. Plus, Judi Dench could put me on a leash and I would bark and fetch for her till the cows come home.
Today's confession: I watched last night's Couples Therapy and cried my eyes out. Alex's "confrontation" with her sweet mother was so real! Damn you, Dr. Jen. We're all just trying to get through this crazy life... and on TV is always better.