(romper/socks: TJMaxx; sweater/scarf: Bargain Boutique; sunnies: Battery Street Jeans; tights: Goodwill; booties: Seychelles)
Woo-boy, Tuesday. This week I've been reading Doris Lessing's "The Golden Notebook," which, like apparently all semi-autobiographical novels written by women in the sixties and seventies, has me exclaiming (yes! that's me! that's my life, that's my problem!) right and left. Reading these books feels almost like journaling or submitting myself to an intense therapy session--they force me (happily) to look deep inside myself and analyze the way that I react to conflict and the ways in which my existence is problematic. I've gone from Jong to Atwood to Lessing and back again in the past couple of months, and it's refreshing to feel so connected to these authors and their stories, not to have to force myself to focus on ideas that aren't relevant to my life, and instead to open myself up to the philosophical meanderings presented in a context that I can understand and fully appreciate. Love it.