Oh Dana, may the pain disappear quickly.

I'm home. Today was quite the adventure, both from a social stand point and a political one. The dreaded snow storm had yet to truly arrive. Lots of wet stuff but noun much sticking. We did lose one big branch of the crabapple tree out front.

Our pro landscaper neighbor did our container gardens last year, even though she'd moved out of the neighborhood. This year we're on our own. I keep saying, "Combine contrasting colors--these purple flowers need white and yellow, the blue pot doesn't need lavender or baby pink. The flowers should be orange and shocking pink--think contrast. And we need a tall, a wide, and a fluffy plant in each of the big pots, or height, mass, and texture, please, not eighty-seven tiny pots with one plant each," but H doesn't seem to hear me. He's jumped into gardening with both feet, and frankly, whatever he does will be better than dead plants and empty pots. I've just thrown up my hands and said, "You go."

Interesting times indeed, Suzi. Glad you're home safe, with tales to tell.

My father-in-law is on the phone, telling us we are nuts for having given the IRS our banking information, in order to pay our tax bill (which was pretty low this year, woot). Because they lose things and get hacked.

Well, he's not wrong. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

Between Target, Anthem, and the OPM, we've already got our personal information spread out to god knows where. And if you send the IRS a check, isn't your routing number and account number already included?

Most things in my life are not sparking joy. I think that's an excessively high bar. If we are doing joy as a criteria, the only thing I might have left is my pillow and new mattress, my letter from the President, and some tights. I'm not sure I'd survive my own joy criteria.

My wife just told me that she thinks what I really want is just to live by myself and just work and write.

Well, wanting to write and getting it done are two separate things. That seems like a pretty passive aggressive comment. How did you respond?

Somedays, I just want to run away and join the circus, or go live in a hotel for a month, or barricade my door and spend the rest of my life streaming Netflix. It doesn't mean I do it, and it doesn't mean I should be criticized for these occasional thoughts.

I like sparking joy as a criteria but I think I am more easily sparked than most people. Or have a low bar for what constitutes joy. Something.