SO I´m reading a magazine in this crowded restaurant because I´m dining alone. I am reading a magazine because I cannot commit to a book right now. This unnerves me and makes me just a little bit angsty and itchy and guilty. It´s just not right, I feel - there is just sooo much out there that I want to read - WHY can't I grab one of the hundreds of books from my fucking shelves (insert photo of bookshelves here to prove it hahaha)?? I know I´m an over-thinking neurotic donkey because of this, but it feels like I´m wasting valuable time (isn't all time valuable?) by NOT reading a book in my (rare) spare time. I reserve magazine reading for idle accidental free time, or for the caught-without-a-book or in-between-books time. Mmagazines are really 2nd class citizens to me (even the laborious New Yorkers & Vanity Fairs)...ooh I´m suffering some deep shutup shutup neuroseeeees...

SO I bought a magazine after settling into the hotel and realizing my boss wasn´t interesting in finding me, wherever she was - or maybe, the fact that my cell wasn't working in Mexico, there was no voicemail in our rooms, and that the little wire which connects to the earpeice of the phone kept popping out and killing any call I might get, had something to do with it. So I wandered to the lil mercado down the road and now I get to struggle my way through fucking Vanidades (for my Spanish fashion vocab is retarded and I still read slowish). But there I am feeling stupid because I catch myself sounding out the words and I´m sucking on some shrimp and rolling my eyes at WannaBeBuffet and hiccuping because now I´ve had more wine.

There is a piece on Rio de Janeiro. There is a photo of the famous landmark Cristo Redentor del Corcovado, the Christ statue on the mountain top - his arms wide wide open - que benedice - and I've had some more wine by now - but it just made me so sad.