desperance (desperance) wrote,

First socks of the winter

Oh why do you choose to betray me so, California...?

'Tis barely a week since I was bragging about the warmliness of here: and now suddenly it's not just socks, but long sleeved shirts and cats-in-the-lap and too cold to drink unwarm beer and we've only got one bottle of wine which m'wife might claim her share of so I'm concocting toddies before dinner, which ordinarily I only do if I'm sick. I don't think I'm sick, I'm just coooooold. You could snap my toes off with the frostliness, if it weren't for the socks. *cherishes socks*

Toddy good. Other stuff, not so much. Karen's been sick all weekend, and I'm just fretty and unpopular. Unpleasant. Unsomething. Unstrung, except that I'm so damn tightly strung it's ridiculous. And trying to pretend that rereading all of Wimsey in its proper order (who knew that Five Red Herrings came after Strong Poison? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone...?) is so working. No, it is. Surely...
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