Week of January 9-15

[mrissa]

One rejection and no acceptances this week. The kind of news that I'm sure you were languishing without.

We're going to be quite sociable for a few days: we went down to Burnsville for songwind's birthday (and happy oldness to him!) and will be celebrating Christmas and jobness with porphyrin and the rest of her self-declared Household of Chaos and will also see timprov's folks and I don't know who else. We're little social butterflies, is what.

It is cold here. Cold cold cold. I could probably make a good dent in what remains of Juha Pentikäinen's Kalevala Mythology before we get into my official Day Off, but I'm not going to. It's going to involve lots of notes, and my back and shoulders are being crankier than usual, so I'm just going to save it and probably finish sartorias's Wren to the Rescue before bed.

I think the cold is wearing on us all. We got in the car to come home, and markgritter expressed his incredulity that it could be only 8:30. Um, yah. Tired. And I woke up an hour after going to bed again last night, with the firm conviction that I'd left my contacts in. This happens about once a week lately. My brain knows it's not supposed to be able to see while sleeping, because my contacts are not supposed to be in, so if I can see in my dreams, the brain wakes the body in a panic about the contacts. I have never once fallen asleep for the night with my contacts in. Never once. And yet I wake up with this conviction between once a week and once a month, depending on the stress levels elsewhere in my life. Argh.

But it's supposed to be cold; it's January. So apparently I'm supposed to be tired. So all right then.

Comments

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

Which are my favorites? Hmmmm. I think I like my homemade caramels best. I made my mother laugh at Christmas by turning to her out of the blue and saying, "You know who makes good caramels? Me."

I mailed the damn thing on Dec. 22. Stupid post office.

More on e-mail.