I finished a book last night that kept me awake when I turned out the light to sleep.  Albatross.  A woman’s story of surviving at sea when the sailboat she was crewing on sank.  As I lay there in the dark, trying to drift into dreamland, I saw her purple puckered sores in the filthy slosh of the Zodiac.  I thought of the sharks bumping the rubber lifeboat, the scream she heard when one of her crew mates swam away in the night in delirium, the putrefied body of another crew mate who died in the lifeboat with her.  And I thought, this happened.  For real.  These words, they are this woman’s best attempt at capturing the horror of what we read about over and over again in fiction.  But this time it was true.

I flipped over, and my mind jumped to fashion.  Naturally.  I’ve been working on my second New Year’s resolution, building a basic wardrobe, and after spending the afternoon searching for a classic style fashion blog, I thought about how odd it was that I couldn’t find one.  There are plenty of blogs showcasing celebrity style, or the latest pieces coming down the Paris runway, but a basic, “Elements of timeless style” blog?  Can’t find one.  This baffles me.

I flopped over again, picturing Claire Underwood’s necklines in the Netflix series, House of Cards.  Her pencil skirts. Thought, I’d totally rock a pencil skirt at the grocery store.  Imagined myself in her beautifully tailored, crisp button down shirts, her minimalist blacks, whites, and grays.  After watching an episode last night, I told my husband, “I like D.C. style.  All these fashion blogs are all about New York this, New York that, Paris, Hollywood.  I like Washington better.”

“Have you noticed nobody has worn a single color on the show?” He laughed.

I thought, there is red on the soles of Claire’s shoes.

My mind cut back to puckered sores, watching your boat’s mast drop below the surface of an angry sea. I flipped. Thought of tailored oxfords, statement necklaces.

I threw the covers off and creaked downstairs to the dark kitchen.  I turned on the stove light and poured a glass of milk, my fail-safe insomnia remedy.  I played Words With Friends on the toilet.  Then finally, I walked heavily upstairs and fell, peacefully, without sea sores, without fashion, to sleep.