Since returning from Thanksgiving vacation, I've put in more hours at Books & Books than a Malaysian eight-year-old in a sneaker factory. I took last Sunday off to watch Dylan, and this weekend off to scrape paint in the dining room. These are not days off in the sense of coffee in one hand, Just Kids in the other, lounging in pajamas while Friends on DVD plays quietly in the background (just writing that sentence made me drool). I worked like an ox before the goad, I just didn't get a paycheck for my efforts.
Between sixty-hour work weeks, interminable renovations, and Christmas shopping, I've barely been able to get out of bed. I sleep, dream, and then Dylan rousts Becky and I out of bed. I set my alarm for five as always, but I was so sleepy I'd turn it off and have no recollection of doing so.
Christmas fever has made Dylan a handful. The other buyer, Z, has been on his honeymoon, leaving me solo during our busiest time of the year. I've been sleeping through the time alloted for the one activity which keeps me sane. We're still living hand to mouth, barely. The walls of our dining room look like the set of Silent Hill. MiniMe has fleas. So why am I so happy? Christmas? Becky? All the lights and carols? Coming home to presents form up north? Maybe a cocktail of all of those thing, with a fresh pine tree thrown in to stir it.
I'm sorry SwF&F has gotten anemic. I promise more words in the future.
In the meantime, I'm fine. Busy, exhausted, and fine.
Love and happy holidays!