The winter weather is bearing down upon us, and I need milk and bread. Or at least soy milk and regular milk. Once I checked out at the grocery store with milk, buttermilk, chocolate milk, soy milk, and vanilla soy milk. I used self-check that day. I would not use self check this afternoon if it were in the cause of buying a new urn for my mother’s ashes. This promises to be a full-on full-contact shopping afternoon. Given the likelihood of my being snowbound tomorrow, and given the likelihood of my being freed by Saturday afternoon, I might just wait until late and then buy enough to tide over my family for a day or two. It’s not like we are staying over the winter in some creepy mountain resort in Colorado. Tallulah has an extraordinary ability to communicate telepathically with elderly men, so we should be good in any case.
The thing about the snow is not the snow, it’s the ice. All y’all haters in New Jersey can suck it because I have been in New Jersey when it is icy and you can’t drive any better in that shizzle than I can. We should all stay home. Especially when there is so much TV to be watched. Having cleaned for Teddy Faire ’09, pretty much caught up on the check book, and substantially completed the Chrismachaunadan shopping, I can spend some time relaxing. I’d run in the snow, but ice is a different story. If need be, I can set up the trainer and act all Lance-ish.
Or do nothing at all. We all like being productive and doing good things. Sometimes I can forget that there is a limit to how much I can effectively produce. Sometimes I need to lie fallow, like a river bottom in a sabbath year. With some time, my creative juices flow again like the watercourses of the Negev. It helps, though, when a good icing shuts everything down and I can rest. Thumpity thump thump. Thumpity, thump, thump.