Every year on Christmas Eve I look for a way to express love. For years I felt, as the non-religious sort, the true import of this holiday was a bit lost on me, but continued celebrating in my own way.
domesticat.net now chronicles fully a quarter of my existence on this earth, and combining that with a search function often serves to bring the arc of my life into clearer, simpler focus.
My smile blossomed at ten after four, when he walked in the door, unexpected, early. I had commented to Adam online a bit earlier that there was something calm and perfect about the afternoon: the raging storm; the slanted lamplight across my laptop; the soft sound of snoring, geriatric cats. Suddenly, it was better.
Jeff smiled as he put his bag down and said, “Stacy sent us all home.” He put down his string bag of water bottle, lunch remnants, and snacks; he took his place on the other couch and I paused from debugging.
There are several simple signs that the crud has successfully knocked me on my ass, but the biggest sign of all is that I have been home since Friday night (and as of this writing it is now Tuesday afternoon) and though I have been on the couch most of that time, have I posted here? No. I’m just now feeling capable of stringing sentences together with some hope of achieving subject-verb agreement, and if I get wordy, even that’s gonna get a bit dicey.