… and winter is still holding on a bit. We have earned spring, though. Like it’s some lusted-after prize won in a back-alley fight club match, we’ll gladly accept it even though we are bruised and bloodied. And sneezing. Because this spring is murder on the head.
I was having a big time out in the yard photographing the glassy branches when a big oak limb in my neighbor’s yard snapped and fell to the ground, bringing a power line (or cable line? not sure) to the ground with it. I thought for a split second she’d coming running outside and see me there at midnight and suspect I’d done something to bring the branch down, but then I realized…
My crud seems to be worsening. I might actually have to haul ass to the doctor, despite my eight-year-old-inner-child protests. On the subject of frigidity (we were talking about that, right?), I finally reviewed The World’s Dumbest Book. Did that feel good, you ask? Yes. Yes, it did. I got so carried away that I left out the part where the author lists her cures to low self-esteem. Among them? Cut out all sugar, refined…
Sarah and I were booty dancing catching up into the wee hours when we noticed that the nasty rain had turned to snow. And then we went out and played in it. At 5:30 in the morning. (We’d technically not been asleep so it still qualifies as my Day 27.) Unrelatedly, my lungs felt a little like death today. More snowtography here. [Project 365]
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