We went, we saw, we ate 'til the tryptophan made us drowsy. I've never, EVER fallen asleep at someone else's house before, but on Thursday I just couldn't keep my eyes open. Part of it's the "little purple pill" the doctor gave me to get through the holidays. And I'm not talking Viagra, so don't go getting any ideas. The purple pill's a mix of two anti-depressants (I don't know which; I just take what I'm told), and it's supposed to take a bit of the edge off holiday depression. Because ho-ho-holy cow do I ever get that.
It can't be the company, either, since my husband's Uncle Frank – an old standby at major holidays for at least 20 years - keeps the conversation pretty lively. He and my father in law engage in an entertaining passive aggressive banter. It's like watching a slow dance between two people who aren't sure they can tolerate each other. Like I said: entertaining. Every family should have an Uncle Frank.
Over the next couple of weeks I'll be busy finishing up my grad school projects. I would say don't expect to see too much of me, but we both know I can never keep that promise. I'm drawn to you like a magnet to steel; you complete me.
Barf. I know.