The winter bug finally hit me. I am wrapped in a quilt with a plethora of necessities closeby (ice water, cough drops, hot cider, chapstick, Kleenex, lotion for my already raw nose, chicken broth, and an orange), regretting the fact that I'm not at my volleyball game instead. I'm taking a break from my homework to listen to the hum of the tablesaw. Winn is framing our living room windows. They are going to be handsome. With wide sills where you can set a flower or a windowlight. I will paint them when Winn is finished.
It is not fun to work when you are sick. Especially when you have to sit in a conference room for six hours straight, listening to three attorneys and seven heavy equipment specialists drone on and on while you're going through the whole box of tissues in the room, trying not to sniffle, willing away the itch in your nose so that you don't sneeze all over everyone. Three o'clock couldn't have come soon enough.
I'm looking at the Christmas decorations and thinking about how I should pack away the stockings and the tree and the ornaments, at least the ones that didn't get broken when thrown across the room by a confused little boy who was frustrated by boundaries that he wasn't used to having. I don't think I've told you yet that Alex went home not long after Christmas. He no longer hides behind our couch, flinging imaginary webs at us from his fingertips. Goodbye, Spiderman.