Lament of the Fortunate

There has been much eating and drinking and celebrating of late at the Trattoria Breve. 'Tis the season.

The other day I ate (most of) a lobster the size of a small country, with melted butter served in a small soup bowl:

Today I am feeling guilty, not just because of my fine crustacean friend there who nobly gave his life so that I might eat shellfish, but because I am blogging and am safe and warm and fully fed while the majority of the world grapples with obtaining clean water, and because I am still feeling exhausted.

Ty and I turned down an invitation for tonight that would have guaranteed us a succulent dinner and entertaining conversation courtesy of some old friends. We just can't do it.

Right now, an ideal day for me would consist of never getting out of my pajamas, never making the bed, not worrying about bills or savings, not tracking my ovulatory cycles, not answering the phone, not grooming myself in any real way, or applying makeup, or even changing my socks, and making French toast while watching either Lifetime or one of those shows on VH1 or E! that consists of lots of little entertainment clips interspersed with minor celebrities mugging for the camera.

My second choice, oddly enough, would be just to spend a normal, quiet day chipping away at my mountain of work, interspersed with some blog-reading, stretching, and breaks for tea. Surprisingly enough, I actually like my work, much of the time. I will most likely get this wish sometime after the New Year, when the partying tapers off and ordinary time resumes. By then, of course, I will long for festive Christmas dinners and events that take me away from the rut of everyday life.

This year, I think my New Year's Resolution will be to make peace with mild discontent, to appreciate my many blessings, and to recognize grass-is-always-greener dissatisfactions as the normal ebb and flow of life that they are.

Happy New Year, Everyone!