"Whatever shall we do in that remote spot? Well, we'll write our memoirs. Work is the scythe of time." --Napoleon Bonaparte, on his way into exile.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005


I'm in the dumps. It's winter, I know. I wish we could all hibernate, like bears. All I want to do is eat and sleep. I have been managing to work out every other day, which is good, except that it makes me want to eat more.

E and I have a truce right now. It's the budget again, always is. The thing is, when my spending is limited, I feel like I'm a teenager, handing over my paycheck to mom and dad. Only now I'm not earning a paycheck.

I've run out of Rose Heather yarn for my Irish Hiking Scarf. I've been to two JoAnn's stores and they are out of everything. When they re-stock it will probably be spring colors. Perhaps I'll just have to do something daring, and work the scarf in different colors. That would be a conversation-starter (it would start something like this: "Looks like she ran out of yarn!" and continue, "Poor dear, she's on a restricted budget.")

Tess is yelling for me again. She's been playing upstairs quietly, which usually means one thing - time for a diaper change. I almost miss the "two-minute warning" she used to give as a baby (grunting, red in the face, funny noises, etc.). Sigh. Back to work.


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