On Thursday New York Fashion Week ended and I flew straight to Milan to work with Pucci for a few days before starting castings and fittings for Milan Fashion Week. Upon arriving, however, I came down with a cold, and the following morning went to work (a long and solitary day doing "looks") with a sore throat and a heavy heart. I felt hopeless, ironic though that may sound. I was really just physically and emotionally worn, irrationally fearing things and disliking things and suffering from things. No matter that it was Sunday morning in Italy and church bells were ringing in the sunny streets outside, no matter that I was out in the wide world and making my own way, and no matter that the job I was doing was comprised simply of standing still all day and trying on clothes upon clothes upon clothes instead of governing a nation or saving lives in a war zone. In my corner of narrowness at that moment all I saw were the days of work before me and all I wanted was sleep and comfort and my own dear bed. But the hopelessness passed as I grew healthier and stronger—as everyone knows, the show must go on...or, in this case, the very many shows!