It's a dark and stormy night. Bill and I are up way too late at the kitchen table because he's fretting over financial matters and I am loathe to abandon him for the comfort of bed. It would seem that the program he's using is messing with the math in his business account. Either that or it's just way too late for us to be up doing this kind of stuff. Trouble is, this is the only time that there is even a small chance of not being interrupted!

Why am I "blogging"? Why now? Why at all? It's something to do while he curses and mutters and looks for paperwork to help explain the chaos on the computer. There's not much I can actually do. I come up with the occasional halfway intelligent question to ask and apparently my presence is somewhat reassuring. I've seen myself in the mirror tonight so I don't know why. I truly look maniacal. Maybe that is what is reassuring?

So anyway. It's a dark and stormy night. I have stopped thinking about Spring again. I know that suddenly one day I'll be sitting outside feeling that contentment and peace that floods my spirit in the weeks before brutal heat and humidity set in. And I'll forget how awful it is now. I won't be able to remember the barren trees and shrubs. There will be endless amounts of puttering to be done outdoors. The blissful amnesia of May - December will set in.