A note from under my blanket

I know, I know.  I have been seriously incognito, you guys.  I’m sorry.  I got that big boost from the ecard thing and then promptly disappeared.  Uncool.  Here’s my excuse.  You ready?

It’s winter. 

It’s effing cold out.  And I’m going nowhere in this weather and doing nothing.  You know what I have been doing instead of writing this blog?  I have been napping, curling up under a blanket, reading a novel, and perfecting chicken wing and pot pie recipes.  And not really showering that often.  And wearing a lot of stretchy, cozy garments.  And drinking bourbon, because that shit really warms you up from the inside out.  Tea would do the same thing, I guess, but where’s the fun in that?  During the day while the kids are at school… sure, cleaning the house.  Cooking. Grocery shopping.  Yawn.  You know, the usual.  I made some curtains for my daughter’s room.  I have been volunteering in the kiddos’ classrooms.  But mostly?  Napping.  Curling up. 

Hibernating. 

In my meager defense, I did start taking a weekly Pilates class with a friend.  Her  husband conspired with mine to get us both gift cards for Christmas to a Pilates studio nearby that they knew we liked.  And as weird and loaded as it should be for a husband to get a wife a workout gift certificate as a gift, it was actually really sweet and thoughtful, because both hubbies know that my friend and I haven’t gotten to spend as much time together since our kids went to school and play dates dwindled.  This is a weekly date, AND we get to feel all virtuous because we worked out before assuming our usual pattern of eating grilled cheese and going junking at Goodwill. 

I have gone to Zumba, but not as often as I would like.  There is a new African dance class starting that I’m excited to try, but it meets on Saturdays, which is kind of the kiss of death.  If I make that once a month, it will be a miracle.  I know that the more I work out, the more energy I will have.  I know that in theory.  Yup, I should really work out more.  I need to get on that. 

But y’all, it’s COLD.  And when you come out of a workout all sweaty and the sweat freezes on your skin and in your hair, dude, that part sucks!  And it’s just so warm here under my blankie.  My tootsies are toasty in fuzzy socks.  I have an entire series of novels ahead of me that I haven’t read in a decade, because the last one finally came out, so I have to remember what happened in all of the earlier ones and then read the last few that will be new.  The happiest place on earth is not Disneyland.  It’s under my blanket.  With a good book and a good bourbon.  I’m not seasonally affectively depressed.  I’m happy!  And toasty warm.  With a book and a little buzz.  Seriously, happiest place on earth.

But here’s the thing. It’s kind of hard to blog about doing fuck-all for two months.  Maybe I should revert to my poetry of the mundane and do an ode to my fuzzy socks?  Maybe I should write some bourbon reviews?  Or I could tell you guys how to cook awesome chicken wings without deep frying them.  But I’m also pretty motivated to just curl back up under my blankie, you know?

I don’t have much practice at making myself write.  I do nanowrimo, so I make myself write for that, but I have never had to make myself blog.  Usually, this stuff flies out of me whether I want it to or not.  I blog because, if I don’t, my facebook updates get too long and wordy.  But it’s been almost a month.  So, um… yeah.  I’m not going to “put it on” for you guys.  We’re all friends here.  We’ve laughed together.  We’ve cried together.  So I’m just gonna tell it like it is.  I’m hibernating here under my blanket until I look outside and something is green.  Join me.  It’s warm.  I have extra pairs of fuzzy socks.  And tea.  Where tea totally equals bourbon.