It's 3pm and this is what I've done so far today: got out of bed at 10am, read the first half of my Self magazine, finished wrapping Christmas presents, searched for the perfect adornment to my sister's birthday gift in my odds and ends drawer- found it, and had a difficult time parting with it - listened to the Vince Guaraldi trio on my laptop, gave my extremely dirty kitchen the evil eye as I microwaved a plate of leftover ground turkey meat, black beans and cornbread, and curled up under a blanket to watch "Julie and Julia." While watching, I looked up Julie Powell's latest achievement, a book about her marriage troubles and decision to learn how to butcher meat. I admire Powell's ability to undertake immense projects for her own self-help, but I'm not sure if I want to read about her infidelity after falling in love with her husband in her last book. We shall see.
I've paused the film because I cannot for the life of me stop feeling guilty over what I should be doing right now. I should wash the dishes. I should wash myself. I should wash the kitchen floor. I should tidy up and take out the trash and vacuum and do laundry. I should read a book or write a letter or organize a closet. I should really do all of these things.
But it's Christmas, and I think I've been good this year. I'm going to get to these tasks eventually (hopefully as soon as the movie ends) and right now I'm going to enjoy watching Julia Child reunite with her sister in Paris, which might be my favorite part of the movie.