Does Something About Me Say 'Free Therapy'?

Dear lady in line behind me at the post office,

Making small talk about my ridiculously heavy boxes (another 90 pounds of books off to Madison—post office, please don't lose any of them this time) while we wait in a slow line is totally normal. Telling me about how your husband moved to Seattle for a job and after 35 years of marriage, you'd think you would have been OK, but he met somebody—younger, of course—is probably not post-office small-talk appropriate.

Also, does something about me say "please talk my ear off about your failed marriage" or "free therapy"?

Love, Eli7

Deep Thoughts: The Productivity and Jelly Beans Edition

• The above graphic is exactly how I get work done. I find it is especially true both of summer work and working from home, so yeah, welcome to my life.

• Apparently half of my siblings (and that's a pretty substantial number of people) hate jelly beans. How can anyone hate jelly beans? This is crazy.

• I went to the beach today and, aside from a minor suntan lotion fail, had an awesome time. Why have I not gone to the beach every single day the whole summer? Or the whole time I've lived in Southern California? Things I am going to miss from the snowy depths of fly-over country...

• I came across the Taboo Jewish Edition at a judaica store recently. Imagine if the game actually lived up to its name. This judaica store also carries a shtetel road mat and Uncle Moishy multivitamins, which are each bizarre in their own way. It also had a gorgeous kiddish cup we loved until we found out the price: $1300. Turns out, we have expensive taste. 

Dear Random Lady at Starbucks

Dear lady sitting across from me in Starbucks,

I get that Starbucks was really crowded today (also, tangentially, Starbucks in San Diego is cheaper than anywhere else I've been, which is nice), so I was happy to share my table with you. And I get that you're computer-illiterate (I get this because you told me this), but here's a tip: If someone went to the trouble of bringing her laptop with her to Starbucks and has it set up and open at her table, chances are she came there to work, not to talk to strangers. So, if you must complain about the weather (and, really, there's almost never a good reason to complain about the weather in Southern California in the summer), that's fine, but please do not tell me about your $10,000 fur coat, your broken marriage, throwing out your grown daughter's kindergarten laminated graduation cap, your cross-country move, and dating when you're 50. Believe it or not, I did not come to Starbucks to spend an hour listening to you complain about your life. And if I keep on trying to look at my computer and type, please understand that that means I, well, want to focus on my computer, not you.

Love, 

Eli7