This won't get posted until after I get home.
Whenever that is.We woke up this morning to the beginnings of a freak ice storm. As we checked the weather, I began to panic. From what we were reading, this was going to be a monster of an ice storm—with the roads becoming impassable until around Thursday, or so people were guessing.

Welcome home, Amy, I say to myself. Look around. This is where you belong, whether or not you want to admit it.

After a long and exhausting day of having all three nephews over at the house, I told my mother what Jeff and I have been quietly discussing for some time: the fact that unless something strange happens, that we won't be having children.

She says she's not disappointed. I hope that she's telling me the truth; it's hard to tell. But I know that she's not surprised. She mentioned that some of my relatives have started asking her when Jeff and I planned to start having children, and that her response has been that she's never been too sure that we planned on having any at all.

My favorite Christmas carol is still "Carol of the Bells."

I still have no memories of a white Christmas. Looks like this year won't be the year I get to make those memories. Perhaps another year.

I told Jeff on the way home today that it felt like Tuesday. Most of this week vanished in a combination of sleep and fever. But I have answers now.

Jeff wasn't able to go in to work at his usual time this morning; the truck just wasn't able to make it up the ice-covered hills this morning. So he came home to me sitting in my overly-plush terry bathrobe. We talked. I mentioned that I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it to the doctor's office because of the ice.

He offered to check my throat to see if he could see anything. In retrospect, it bothers me that neither of us thought to do this sooner. After a couple of mishaps and me nearly gagging on a soup spoon, Jeff says, essentially, "What are these white spots on the back of your throat?"

It certainly seems like I've written this entry before.

Kat tells me that my feverish and slightly nonsensical journal entries from this week are greatly amusing Sean. Just think, Sean—you could be here, putting up with my grumpy, feverish, utterly charming self in person, but instead you're in snowy Atlanta.

(Please raise your hand if you find that statement to be as utterly screwed up as I do.)

Basically, it's the same damn rigmarole that I've been living with since Monday evening. Sore throat, stiff neck, fluctuating fever, exhaustion. Blah blah lah dee frickin' blah blah blah. Hey, at least the fever makes me easy to entertain…not only do I have the attention span of a goldfish, but my cats find me equally as fascinating.