Fridaze.

I have a huge, huge problem with distractibility. Yuge. To make matters worse, there’s a direct correlation between what day of the week it is and my attention span: the farther along in the week we are, the lower that thing drops. The regenerative powers of the weekend are a marvel to behold, but the rate of decomposition throughout the week is equally impressive. By Friday afternoon my attention has been whittled away to virtual nonexistence.

So it’s a pretty good thing I’m not a doctor or something important, because it’s likely things would end in tragedy. I design book covers, so all I have to do is sit at my desk, open an image in Photoshop, and wave my stylus back and forth on my tablet to look like I’m doing something.

BUT I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING. IT’S ALL A FAÇADE. A glorious façade.

What I am actually doing is wake-sleeping, and day dreaming about all the rosé I’m going to drink once I get off work. Yes, rosé! I don’t’ care if it’s cliché! It is amazingly refreshing and delicious! And boozy—the most important quality.

If we’re being honest, that's the only quality I really care about.

Zara jacket, top, and slides; J. Crew pants; Primark necklace