All dressed up, no place to go.

Recovering the Satellites is an album I only listen to in December, and it hits differently this year. It's an album of isolation and longing and hope for the coming days, Come and waste another year, I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home, Got nowhere but home to go and and in the last few years, a lyric from the jangly, upbeat "Monkey" keeps getting lodged in me - I'm in trouble for the things I need.

After the afternoon bike ride, I got coffee at the local bodega, and even though I had leftovers in the fridge, got stuff to cook dinner. I already had half a pack of vermicelli noodles and a pho spice kit, so in the spirit of "authentically inauthentic" I got canned mushrooms, canned bamboo shoots, and canned water chestnuts, plus a few heads of baby bok choy, cooked it all up, and added some dashes of rice vinegar, sriracha, and soy sauce. Hot noodles, vegetables, and broth was exactly what I needed to center myself.

Recognizing what I've been told and finally accepting it is easier after a good, hot meal like that.

Every year, I hear it sung Maybe this year will be better than the last. It's work to get there. It'll take some work to begin, and I think I can manage it.