I should write about Christmas, but I don't feel like it.
I should write about the quaint Christmas meal with its quaint little traditions. Throwing walnuts over the shoulder for luck, eating little wafery things with honey for some antiquated, superstitious reason, that sort of thing.
But I'm not in the mood.
I ought to thank all y'alls for your brown paper packages tied up with string, and maybe skip over the part where 1:30 in the AM saw me sitting on the bathroom floor sobbing.
While you might be interested in the family visits that took up all the 25th and 26th, I'm sure you don't want to hear about how the constant peopleness of those days left me all aspburgersy, so much so that I've spent the past week crocheting until my fingers bled.
Were I were to write about that, I would probably brag about the matching hat, scarf, and gloves that I've made without a pattern since then.
But I'm not in the mood for blogging.
So I won't.
But one thing I would do
If I were going to blog--
I would make every sentence a new paragraph.
'Cause it makes every
Indented
Isolated
Statement
seem more significant than it actually is.
