Instead of Every Damn Day in December, maybe they should call it, Oh My Gawd, Will December Never End?
All I want to do is sleep. And eat. But mostly sleep.
The other night, I baked two lasagnas, and saved the remaining sauce for tonight’s spaghetti. The sauce is a delicious marinara, with beef, sausage, and too much basil for most people. Whatever sauce remains after this will be sopped up with crusty bread. By me. It’s not so much The Little Italian in me as much as it is the The Little Hibernator.
This week, I’m going to make a roast with potatoes and turnips, chicken and dumplings, and whatever else is both warm and cozy, while also encouraging me to spend more time under my afghan.
Cold weather, stress, and insomnia do not generate energetic Joeys.
Today was a bus stop day, and it was cold. Yes, it was too cold for me. It was “feels like 8F.” That could be translated into “feels like my children’s education isn’t this important.”
No, I don’t still wish I lived in Georgia. I don’t even think the dog wishes we lived in Georgia. She plopped herself down in the snow and began eating the bus stop. Walking her home, I contemplated that winter weather is a necessary price to pay for the glory of Spring. The glory of Spring in Georgia is that one day in March, all the azaleas bloom. Pretty boring compared to here. So no matter how cold it is, or how much I complain of freezin my ass off, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
The earth needs to rest.
And so do I.
Maybe about twelve hours a day.
But I hafta keep waking up. Alarms, children, pets, and phones wake me.
*yawn* It’s really only quarter to eight?
Just put another quilt on the bed, will ya?