I'm sitting here in my chair, exhausted after the month from hell, looking out the window. The snowplow has piled the snow up in huge piles (although, those from the north would probably laugh at how much us Delawareans are panicking), and it's actually kind of pretty. In a frigid way.
Of course, I had to work yesterday and today. State of emergency? Pft. People need their pet food!
So I'm sitting here, with a billion and one ideas to write about. I could write about the funeral. I could write about Bug, and what an amazing person she is. I could write about Rusty, Lili, or the dog that I want to get. I could write about social justice. About common courtesy. About my thoughts and feelings and ideas for the future.
I could write about any number of things, and yet I won't - because I am too emotionally exhausted to do any of those topics any sort of justice.
I don't understand why people rush out to get these three ingredients. I mean...what are people making with this stuff? French toast?
And so I'm here. I'm contemplating building a fire - there's something about the crackling warmth of it that just cheers me up (yes, I fully admit to my pyro status). Hell, there's something about just sitting down with a throw blanket and a hot cup of cocoa and curling up with a good book.
Or, in my case, season one of Lost (which I've recently gotten hooked on).
So, World, how have you been?