It would have been neato to write something that was 2006 words long but I don't do math in the morning.

I woke this morning with the sensation of being in the wrong place. We just got back from the lake and none of us really wanted to come home. However, real life calls. My daughter lost her glasses. My husband lost his job. We have returns and exchanges from Christmas. We have friends to catch up with, and even a few latent, unbestowed gifts floating around. I have bills and subs from my critique group. Shit. I even still have a book to finish. Such is life: back to cruel reality. Did get to chat with Greg for an hour or so last night, so that helped the reintegration. We tend to get a bit fussy when we don't talk for a week.

I went snowboarding and it's odd to find a sport that feels so natural in so short a time. I went twice last year and when I strapped on the board last Thursday it felt like I was putting on old, friendly shoes. Though I'm strong and in good shape, I'm not what you call athletically inclined. Nor am I competitive. I also got this wee problem with authority, which means I don't take well to coaching. We recently golfed with my neighbors, one of whom is a retired pro soccer player. He was utterly baffled, I think, to find someone who could enjoy golf so much while being so pathetically awful at it. Hell, I might not be able to putt, but I can whack the shit out of that ball, and it typically flies straight, too. Putting is tedious to me, like sewing on a button with a dull needle or paying bills when you don't have the money.

I escaped the fam to write in this little brewpub behind my house and by the third day they gave me my beer without asking what kind I wanted. People kept asking me if they had wi-fi. My little Dell laptop is old, but it looks cool. People are always impressed with it. Runs like a top, too. But I don't know what they were thinking. The place doesn't even have a tv or a place in the log walls to plug in. One guy even tried to tell me where I could access wi-fi, but I sort of stole his thunder by anticipating what he was going to say and telling him instead. It wasn't that hard. He was staggering drunk. "You mus' live roun' heeere," he said.

The sledding was fun, though I'm seeing that snowmobiles are fickle, high-maintanance creatures, rather like myself...

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