Adventures in the Pointless Forest

It's a lady carrot.

The most depressing day of the year! Allegedly. 

It was not too bad, here, though we've all had better ones. We slept extremely poorly last night. Poor Jane spend most of the night wailing and sobbing in our bed, and could not explain why. I kept asking her if something hurt, but she just seemed confused and inconsolable. Then whenever she would drop off for a moment, Steve would have a coughing fit. It was quite something.

In the morning, she was tired and feeble (as were we) and generally a little inclined to dissolve into tears (we managed to refrain), but otherwise okay. Since Steve and I both had the day off, we wanted to do something a little interesting, but in the face of the cold weather and the no sleep, not too interesting. So we went to "Asiatown," as Cleveland's not-really-a-chinatown calls itself, and did a little grocery shopping and let Jane gape at the tanks of live tilapia. One thing we bought was a bulbous carrot. 

"Why that carrot have a nose?" Jane inquired. "Let's give it eyes. And feet." So we did.

You will be glad to know that Jane was pleased by the results. "I like this carrot," she said. "It's a lady carrot. I like him."

Winter, a cavalcade of delights.

Me: Those little bowls are for condiments.

Jane: Of the house?

Quite.

Christmas was pleasant, as it canonically is supposed to be. I was I think only once compelled to refer to it as "Fuckwad" (merry fuckwad). Sweets were made, presents were exchanged, carols and murder ballads were sung, friends and family joined in pleasing harmony, et cetera. 

Now the semester is about to begin, the really-truly winter has arrived and with it its associated Stockholm Syndrome reactions (today it is THIRTY-SEVEN DEGREES FARENHEIT, break out the sundresses), and I have a nice lingering racking cough to go with it. Jane thinks it is all pretty swell

at least by day. The cold dark of early nightfall she still considers pretty objectionable, and really who can blame her? Certainly not I.

Lord, what little I have to say and how mundanely I manage to say it! I will try to scrounge up something more entertaining soon if only to stop boring myself, though it will have to be about something pretty dull at its core because that's all I've got going. Options that leap not-so-enticingly to mind include: drips, itchy hands, poorly-bound books, instant soup, piles of objects, dust in the corners, expensive face cream, inadequate baby lotion, jersey shirts (the dowdiness/disintigrating nature of), hair static, antihistamines, reading the same books over and over because they are the ones already in the bedroom, feeling like a jerk, how annoying the disappearing scroll bar is in OS 10.7, and sweet potatoes. Don't you want me to get started right away?

PS. Do not break out the sundresses.