Here I am finishing up page 4,100 of Harry Potter is Conjured Into Existence on Bits of Cafe Napkin by an Indefatigable Single Mother and Within a Decade Reaps Riches Heretofore Unprecedented by: a Female Author; any Previous Perveyor of Children's Literature; an Unkempt Skinny Boy With Glasses Who Resides in a Crawl Space Beneath a Musty Stairwell Alongside Oxidizing Paint Trays; or For That Matter, The Queen. As you can see, I have been sitting in this spot so long my cat has mistaken me for a new bit of grafting on the furniture.
I might very well have returned to New England and weathered the storm my mother has (below) documented very nicely when she should have been clearing her car of windshield debris, I have seen so little daylight lately.
I did manage to get out of the house .. um .. for a minute on Sunday? maybe? and then again yesterday, noticing both times (incase you don't catch the pedestrians below the tree wearing shorts which this next photo clearly intimates) that it was so warm out, I must seriously be a nutjob for sitting at home the past few weeks in legwarmers, reading books.
I think what I mean is: it's time to go to the beach, call everyone I know who lives somewhere snowy, and gloat.
I could bring my laptop, if I'm determined to ignore the weather.