I have not blogged in a week, and this is because all I can think about is contained in three words: I am cold.
No, wait, here are a few more: it is cold here. That's four words! And: I wish I had an extra sweater right now. 9 words! These are really adding up. I apologize for not writing all this sooner.
I have had just about enough of January. Really, January. You made your point. "I can make you cold," you said, and it's not like any of us disagreed with you. But then you had to go and freeze everything. You vindictive whore.
My skin is cracking from the cold. Every time I absentmindedly scratch my shin, my fingers come back all bloody. Which is really alarming when you're chatting with your therapist. Why is my leg bleeding, you ask? No, I'm not cutting myself with an Exacto knife for fun, it's just that winter is trying to kill me. Why are you looking at me like that? What are you writing in your little notepad?
So, as long as I'm here, let's see... doo dee doo. Oh yes! My son might be some kind of math genius. He's been mocking the kindergarten work they give him, and I gave him a first grade workbook and he blew right through it. I've been trying to come up with number sequences that he can fill in, see if I can't challenge him a bit, considering he's only in school for two hours fifty minutes and his homework takes approximately five minutes for him to complete. I couldn't come up with one that would stump him, until I gave him the ol' Fibonacci sequence and was all, FILL THAT IN, SMARTYPANTS. This also stumped my husband. Not that that's saying much, because Scott has math anxiety when it's time to compute a tip. But still! I predict that someday, my son will figure out tips with no problem. Maybe he can even do my taxes! I knew I wouldn't regret having children.