What a perfectly dark and rainy day here in Los Angeles. Perfect for my moodiness, my anxiety to accomplish much in the New Year, and for the bowl of warmth sitting in front of me.
It’s New Year’s Eve and instead of prepping for a night out with my husband after playing a sold-out show in Vegas, I’m home talking about soup. 37 weeks pregnant and not allowed to fly, talking about soup.
I’m not a fan of words and insinuations like “luck” or “blessed” but if there were better choices to describe my new living situation, I would use them.