Happy goddamn holidays

* * *

I had grand plans for the holidays. Plans to write, mostly. Which is always what I've got planned.

It's just that I didn't really write. Instead, I stayed up/slept in late most every day. I hung out with the girl, who'd asked to NOT be sent to daycare for the holiday. I spent five or six hours completely immersed in a French-advertising-poster puzzle. I jumped in newly-piled-up snowbanks and encouraged the girl to do the same. I read the two books M. gave me for Xmas. I went with M and the girl to the new Star Wars. I made a batch of kimchi all-by-myself.

It was an immensely restful holiday. It was probably what I needed, because I no longer feel quite so tired all the time.

But it wasn't what I planned. And I had next to no alone time. The only saving grace was Monday the 4th, which I had off. I got up, saw M and the girl out the door, and then sat in my chair and wrote.

I edited a couple of poems and wrote two new ones. I listened to the quiet of the house and fended off the cat, who thinks that I should be petting her all the time if I'm going to be home. That, or running around the house at top speed.