After a bedtime of 9:45 PM and a fervent snooze of about 9 hours in duration... I have no business being this damn sleepy. I want to drive through the chilly, wet streets to my apartment, put on a hoodie and some yoga pants, and curl up in the armchair with the last 1/8th of Kushiel's Scion and a cup of coffee. Mmm, with cats. And opera singers. Hell, let's add a harpist and a servant to feed me Russian teacakes.
I am so ready for winter. Bring it owwnnnn, preferably with plenty of snow. We've been totally shortchanged on snow for the past few years and we're due for a howling, rollicking paragon of a blizzard. Actually, I'd rather have about, oh, 4 inches every Monday morning. That way, with the current lack of snow-combating equipment in North Carolina and a mass regional phobia of driving-in-snow, I'd get about 2-3 snow days out of every 5-day workweek. Score!
Alas that my snowdance does not please the gods. Traditionally performed in inside-out pajamas, it's like a cross between Baryshnikov, John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, and Dick Cheney cringing after accidentally shooting somebody. But hay, tradition is tradition!
What's in store? Well, if I survive this severe case of boredom ::gasp, choke::, I'll go home, head to the gym after inhaling an admirable quantity of
In other news, my sister's cat D'artagnan has ballooned to 17 lbs. Apparently, Pepper (sister's fiance) has to distract him with turkey when he makes lunches in the morning. I hear this and I think of campers throwing sandwiches at ravenous lurking [obese] cougars so they can make their getaways.
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