At the moment...

It's snowing like a mo fo. See?

The Impling is warm and cozy in her nap, and I sit in the dark and try to type as quietly as I can.

I am hungry, but I don't know what I would like to eat. Maybe some hot chocolate. It's snowing, after all.

I'm wearing my “Mom” jeans. The ones that cut me off at the waist. I hate that. On the other hand, they're lined in flannel. So that part's cozy. My kingdom for some lined, dropped waist jeans.

I'm also wearing a cozy, beat up red cardigan with funky buttons that I only wear on my “off” days.

It is one of those “off” days. I feel not so much tired as just sort of pale. Like my face isn't getting enough blood or something.

I'm mildly annoyed at fund-raisers who call during nap-time. Even if it is for Obama.

I have no idea what we are having for supper. Soup, maybe. Or breakfast. Pancakes?

I don't give a shit that no-one cares what I want for supper.

I feel distinctly un-profound. I could write about the quality of the winter light...nah.

One wall is the Impling's gallery of art. Her first finger-paintings, and her own collage she hung/made herself. See?

I'm growing annoyed with this list, but I can't think of anything better to write. Besides the book I'm supposed to be working on, that is.

I don't have a publisher. Or an agent. Or connections.

I need to eat chocolate.

We have no Christmas tree.

There are white lights quietly brightening our Ficus Ali. I want to look at it now because it's cheerful and pleasant to look at. Of course, our Japanese screen is in the way. And I'm too not interested to actually get up and move to see it.

I wonder how our new colored LED lights will look on our little tree once we actually get it. Get a load of my bad green ass self. Insert snort of derision here.

It's still snowing.

At least the Impling is ready for it.

See?

This stream of consciousness brought to you by an absolute lack of motivation, and the letter L. For Lazy.