The melancholia hangs on. H is still spending her days on the couch, shivering under a blanket, her eyes bloodshot and her energy nil. Little J is better-ish–not as hot but still sluggish and cranky like a grizzly who woke early to find the stream still frozen and no fish to be had.
Or like the grizzly who woke (on time) in March and then had to weather a blizzard the first week of April.
I did not run this morning in a fit of protest against the plow’s passing of my house.
Chinese take out for din. Since the stream is frozen and there’s no fish to be had.