Going to the movies. By myself.
Listening to records in the dark, with a glass of red in my hand.
Watching the fog.
Watching the rain.
Taking a bath.
Writing down wise quotes on little slips of paper and leaving them littered around the house.
Roasting a chicken, and eating it off the good china by candlelight. Or at the coffee table with fingers.
Praying the rosary with my grandmother's garnet beads. I've never been able to believe the words, but I've also never not loved the inherited memory-feel of them in my mouth, tasting like olives and silver and salt, like sun-baked dust and the cackling of old women.
Spending an afternoon at the library, a night at the brewery, and the next morning in bed.
Rewatching Blue is the Warmest Color and every episode of Transparent. Then rewatching them again. And again.
Painting at the studio.
Wearing navy cashmere. Wearing raw turquoise. Wearing earplugs.