Seventeen hours: that’s how long my days tend to be, give or take.
They are not always that long, and sometimes they are that long by choice.
But seldom do I get to live a day as intensely as I did today, and I place the blame squarely on the sunrise.
If this sunrise were an actor, he’d definitely be a Paul Newman type: impossibly dazzling and with good longevity, and without that cloying arrogance that suits so few.
Let’s face it: many days start off lanky, boyish and kind of anemic-looking and then develop that strange face-bloat around noon that just leaves you cold– I am looking at you, Leonardo DiCaprio. And unless it turns out to be a Ben Affleck kind of day, where the bloat which had set in seems to disappear magically when true love seems to appear, that’s kind of a weird day to be stuck in and no way you’re getting an Oscar for it.
I usually aim for weird, but I believe I may have outdone myself this time.