I never do well in the winter. No sunlight; no unavoidable distractions; no accidental physical activity; no fresh, palatable fruits and vegetable calling my name. All I want to put in my body is coffee. Well, coffee and anything with a warm doughy consistency. It's no wonder I've gained 6 pound since November. And all I want to do is sleep or rot. Rot is a term someone in high school gave to one of my pastimes. I sit, and ponder, and think way too much. Or as I have come to learn in my adult life is me actually sitting around thinking, but procrastinating from doing anything worthwhile or completing any important daily living activities.
So it's day 6 of being cooped up in the cold, miserable house with either Hubby or Moosie coughing, or snotting up his shirt sleeves, of puking mucus on freshly washed blankets, or depositing used Kleenexes randomly from room to room. I have never cleaned the living room and kitchen so many times and seen absolutely no progress. I have never done so many loads of laundry and dishes only to realize the minute I put the last dish or pair of pants away, all I need to do is turn around and the piles have repopulated themselves.
Nothing makes me feel more depressed than feeling like I don't have a purpose. And that is usually what winter brings. And dang it, now I'm getting a runny nose. I do not want whatever Hubby and Moosie have been spitting all over me for the past week. I sure as hell don't need it.