Tomorrow I jet off to Playa del Carmen for a wedding. Sunshine! Palm trees! Day drinking! Bliss!

Don’t get too jealous—there is a snag in my cartwheeling and twirling. A couple of days ago I called the bride and sheepishly admitted, “I blanked out and forgot to go to the gym the past three months.”

Instead of going on a crash diet and spraying myself a darker shade of Oompa to cover up my trespasses, what have I done the past few days? Continued to eat as if I were headed to the North Pole for the winter.

Today, for instance, involved testing a recipe several times over and by the afternoon I had acquired a few extra thigh dimples thanks to copious amounts of chocolate mousse, sticky Italian meringue, and cookies that I insisted on tasting for quality control (never mind that I was testing assembly methods and the actual recipe was the same each time).

But you know what? I’m not too worried. I found a lovely ombré coral wrap that will look just fabulous poolside.

I strolled around the very crowded Union Square Greenmarket last Saturday afternoon. Despite being jostled around and occasionally glared at for stopping to shoot this basket of red apples and that basket of brown pears, it is one of my favorite places to go in the fall in New York. It’s these jaunts that remind me how much I missed living here and how good it feels to melt into the bustle and grind and messiness of other people’s lives.

I’ve been home alone this entire week. When I walked away from my desk job I knew it meant turning my back on a regimented day-to-day schedule. No more alarm clock, no more bowl of cereal at the kitchen sink, no more cursing the train for being too crowded with fellow nine-to-fivers.

My first year of cubicle freedom was shared with my husband who happened to be working at home, too. Annoying at times, this roommate/officemate… I had to pay attention to when he was on a call because it meant I couldn’t press the pulse button on the food processor like I had an index finger muscle spasm. But it was nice to have someone to share lunch with.

But now we’ve moved and he goes to the office and on days when I’m not shooting, I’m home. Alone.

Some people like to eat alone. I am not one of those people. I do eat—lots, too, and often straight out of the fridge— but it’s not as satisfying, even when I treat myself to lovely Swiss mustard, thick-cut slices of good butter crusted with Maldon salt, crusty bread, and horseradish pickles from the delightful Divine Brine folks.