Matt's sick. He shaved and he's sick and he was on the couch watching Top Gear all night. I tried to create a force field around my side of the bed so he wouldn't infect me. I've got too much to do! No sickness in these lungs, no.

I've been worried about him lately. I think he's seriously having a 30-something crisis. There are no jobs in LA and he's stuck. The only thing he really seems passionate about is scotch, wine, and planning out new recipes to make (don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about this, especially the last one).

I hope he figures out what he wants to do with his days. I hope he figures it out soon.

Honestly, I don't know what people do if they're not writing all the time. The hours are so long and lonely. Afternoons with nothing going on paralyze me. Though I always find something, in the end. I guess other people do too.

SOMETHING like, hmmm, like hiking. Food. Gym. TV. Conversation. Coffee. Bar. New neighborhoods. More hiking. Pilates. Dance classes. Dancing in my living room. People. Strangers. Pleasantries. FOOD. Books. Movies. Greek. Italian. Spanish. MUSIC. BF. LOVE. SEX. FOOD. Fruit. Um. Um. STUFF. Shopping? Staring longingly at the Anthropologie catalogue in which I want to buy every single piece of clothing they have, even the weird stuff. Supermarkets. Farmer's markets. Friends. People I don't see nearly enough.

Oh, the usual.

I've been watching THE HOUR. It's quite addicting. Got to love those British period-piece TV shows. Plus, I hear it's written by a woman.

Joy, I say. J O Y.