The Blahs

I can feel that it's time to get back to work, school and life as usual. Peter saved his outpatient knee surgery for yesterday, leaving us with a home-bound, anxious and hovering weekend. Rose is getting bored with her toys and movies. Andy is pretty much out of ideas for staying occupied. He misses his friends, and frankly, he really does better on a structured schedule. I, now that it's time to get back on the "early to bed, early to rise" schedule, have begun sleeping later and staying up later. My efforts to keep up with the house's clutter and basic cleaning- are taking on their familiar, discouraging pointlessness.

For January, the book club read Inheritance of Loss. The insipid title would lead one to believe that it's just a shabby piece of writing by some hack whose editor chose the title. As it turns out, the title is accurate on several levels, and the writing is masterful. It is, however, grim, slow and without redemption. I rated it a 3- which in our jargon means "tell a friend," and I'm telling you now not to read it.

I did stir myself from my self-involved stupor long enough to notice the outcome of the Iowa caucuses, which, A-what the hell is a caucus anyway, and B- which should small and homogenized Iowa have so much clout? New Hampshire, either, for that matter.

I don't usually pay much attention until the parties have named their candidates, but jeez, do they all have to be so eccentric and unelectable? (I guess if they're ALL unelectable, they've all become electable...)

Whatever. The snow isn't pretty and white anymore, the skies are neither blue, snapping and sunny or filled with clouds that mean business. The Christmas goodies are gone, but the temptations are still all around. The new clothes are just laundry, and the new toys just more to step on and cuss. All the January magazines want to talk about organization and weight-loss, just ringing the same bell that's already going off in my head.