Well I’m writing this at 4:54 on Sunday afternoon instead of waiting until later tonight.
Not that you care, but my reasons are twofold.
1. Downton Abbey
2. I seem to have come down with a bit of the plague.
So, frankly, I’m not even sure I’ll be able to will myself to stay up to watch Downton Abbey, but I plan to give it my best shot considering that Lady Mary needs me in her time of grief.
Tomorrow is our re-entry back to the real world. And it’s probably for the best judging from the fact that my laundry has essentially consisted of nothing but pajama pants for the last two weeks. P is pretty good about continuing to be a productive member of society, but Caroline has joined me in my love of embracing a little bit of agoraphobia during an extended period of vacation.
Several of you mentioned that I didn’t mention the Aggie game on Friday. That’s because my brain and heart still hadn’t recovered enough for me to fully process what happened during the Chick-Fil-A Bowl on Tuesday night and my recap would have just been something along the lines of “slakjdghschmirf”.
We watched the game over at Gulley’s house with a few other friends and I honestly tried my best during the first half to pretend that EVERYTHING WAS FINE, IT WAS FINE, IT’S JUST A FOOTBALL GAME but it was all a lie. And then I spent halftime going through the seven stages of grief for all that this football season could have been.
But the second half started and Coach Sumlin appeared to have punched something hard and unyielding based on his swollen finger and Johnny Manziel played the most amazing game of his career. And that’s saying something. We jumped up and down and yelled and I felt all the feelings that exist and then Tony Hurd made that interception and we lost our minds. It wasn’t the most peaceful, relaxing way to end our season, but it was high on the adrenaline and fun factor.
Our New Year’s Day was basically spent doing absolutely nothing. I debated taking down our Christmas decorations but that felt too ambitious and so I waited until the next day. And it was while unwrapping the forty-third strand of lights from our Christmas tree that I realized why no one sings songs about undecking the halls and that reason is too much profanity and questioning what idiot felt like they needed to weave the lights in and out of every. single. branch.
(That would be me.)
But by late that afternoon we had everything down and put away for next year. I even made a huge pile of stuff to take to Goodwill. Caroline, otherwise known as a future star of an episode of Hoarders, eyed my pile and asked, “But what if some of this turns out to be stuff with special memories?” I informed her I wasn’t buying into drumming up false emotion over a stuffed penguin wearing a Santa hat and it all needed to go. Fa la la la.
Later that evening we had two of P’s oldest friends and their families over for dinner. And by oldest friends, I mean people he’s known the longest. Although that might also make them the oldest in years too because we aren’t spring chickens anymore. We’re late summer chickens.
Anyway, we had the best time catching up on life and watching our kids run and play and climb trees together. His friend George even brought over a New Year’s Piñata for the kids and there really isn’t anything that gets a party going like a bunch of kids hitting a butterfly with a large stick. But that’s just common sense.
On Friday, P and Caroline left to go spend the night at the ranch and I met my birthday club group of girlfriends at a neighborhood restaurant for our annual Christmas party. Granted, we were a little late this year due to some scheduling difficulties, but better late than never. Especially because we make it a little favorite things party and each of us brings a favorite thing ($10 or less) for the rest of the group. And so each of us leaves with five fun little gifts. I highly recommend it.
Sadly, it was Saturday night that I began to suspect I was coming down with something that was more serious than just the dread of getting up at the crack of dawn on Monday morning. My throat is all scratchy, I’m a little achy and just generally feel a little out of it. So, if not for the scratchy throat, completely normal.
But I persevered and made myself get to the grocery store earlier this afternoon to stock up on provisions. The weather here isn’t going to be nearly as cold as it is in other parts of the country, but it’s still cold enough to require a stockpile of good soup.
And some good television.
Which brings me full circle to Downton Abbey.
The end.