Summer Sunday supper: Rigatoni with cherry tomatoes, buttered spinach, black pepper, basil and goats cheese with salmon on the side.  Post-work purchase: shirt from H&M. Looking forward to wearing this with the sleeves rolled up with black jeans and a black blazer and my cateye sunglasses, of course.  Mid-week Amazon delivery. Nothing quite like a new book stack.
“There’s time to spare. This is one of the things I wasn’t prepared for – the amount of unfilled time, the long parentheses of nothing. Time as white sound. If only I could embroider. Weave, knit, something to do with my hands. I want a cigarette. I remember walking in art galleries, through the nineteenth century, the obsession they had with harems. Dozens of paintings of harems, fat women lolling on divans, turbans on their heads or velvet caps, being fanned with peacock tails, a eunuch in the background standing guard. Studies of sedentary flesh, painted by men who had never been there. These pictures were supposed to be erotic, and I thought they were, at the time; but I see now what they were really about. They were paintings about suspended animation; about waiting, about objects not in use. They were paintings about boredom.
But maybe boredom is erotic, when women do it, for men.”
– From Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale . Finally getting around to reading this, and it is every bit as fantastic as I’ve been led to believe.