Listen to Beyonce's Lemonade as I did in the car going to the supermarket. In Sandcastles, she cries: Dishes smashed on my counter / From our last encounter/ Pictures snatched out the frame / Bitch I scratched out your name/ And your face/ What is it about you? / That I can't erase baby
When every promise don't work out that way/ No no baby/ When every promise don't work out that way..

Catch up on Greys Anatomy; and yes, I'll be watching it till the end of time or until I give up the conceit that I could have been a doctor.

Bike in the rain if I had a bike.

Make a cardamom cream cake courtesy of my favourite cook Melissa Clarke of The New York Times.

Make hainanese chicken, which I just might for Friday night. The forecast has rain the whole week.

Download and read Moshin Hamid's novel 'Exit West' where migrants try to find a home via a series of magical doors ala the magical wardrobe in the Narnian Chronicles. I think it's plausible because didn't we just all enter one marked 'Trump World'?.

But Hamid sort of reassures us: 

“the apocalypse appeared to have arrived and yet it was not apocalyptic, which is to say that while the changes were jarring they were not the end, and people found things to do and ways to be and people to be with, and plausible desirable futures began to emerge, unimaginable previously, but not unimaginable now.”