My mind, it is mush. I've spent the last few evenings at home on the sofa with Michael, watching DVDs. In the morning, I feel listless, unable to keep sleeping, yet not eager to rise. What causes such lethargy? Clouds may still hang overhead, but the sun does occasionally push through, and when I head home from work at five, the heavens are not yet cobalt in hue, much less black.
Still, it must be the winter blues, at least in part. Fortunately, Saturday was a nice reprieve, and I made the most of it by working in the front yard and taking Lucy on a long walk along the Burke. Sunday was "date night"; Michael and I followed an early dinner at the Tin Table with the live production of Xanadu at the Paramount (it's our favorite campy 1980 cheese fest). We finished with dessert at Dilettante. If a big bowl of salted caramel ice cream topped with molten truffle sauce and studded with shards of dark chocolate praline doesn't chase away the doldrums, what will?
Or perhaps it's the letdown after the guide summit. Ever busy at work, it's still not the same without people speaking in foreign accents around every corner, and your employer's blessing to live it up each night in the name of getting to know one another. The fact is, I'm getting a little home-sick again. Yes, that's sick of home, not sick for home. The combination of winter weather with no travel plans clearly visible on the horizon is a bit difficult for me.
But I shall persevere! Spring is around the corner, and I just need to find some projects to keep me well occupied in the meantime. Perhaps some more volunteer work? I've sadly gotten out of the habit of that lately. New adventures are ahead, and I'll be back, hopefully with a new story to tell.