Why is it that whenever one is so unbelievably preoccupied, they get inspired to read a classic novel, write a classic novel, bake a complicated cake, eat a complicated cake, get a facial, vacuum out a car, take apart the t.v., dig a giant hole, etc., instead of doing what needs to be done? Later, when time is available, nothing is so much as tempting as the bed, ordering in, and simply watching t.v. Well, I'm in the former state. I have a lot to do. I do not want to do anything and I'm trying very hard to discourage any kind of caring about outcomes. It's complicated, but my heart only stutters every once in awhile in nervousness. I just keep thinking about next weekend when I can go back home and hunt some more.
I also keep thinking and daydreaming about the snow warning tomorrow. I know it won't be much, but I realize I want it (after the hunt)! Here come the decorations, the Christmas carols, the figure skating, the snowboarding!
The frostbite.
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