Out: Chanukah. This was the final night. I won’t have to shave down the bottoms of those cheap, crappy candles that don’t fit in the menorah again for a whole year.
In: That other December holiday. You know, Solstice. I hope it’s not raining too hard when we go out to dance in the woods.
Out: John Irving’s Until I Find You, a weighty tome in the genre of literary fiction. I started reading this book about a week ago. In Part I, an artistically talented but moronic woman drags her four-year-old son around Scandinavia in a fruitless search for the boy’s father, who doesn’t want to be found. Each chapter is nearly an exact replica of the previous one, and each one made me wonder if someone had dropped this woman on her head when she was a baby. I gratefully began Part II, in which the boy begins school in Canada, thinking it would surely be better. After several chapters of the boy being repeatedly molested by malevolent teenaged girls, I’ve determined that it would be more enjoyable to whack myself over the head with this 800-page volume than to read any more of it. OUT.
Out: School. The girls have two weeks off to enjoy their Chanukah presents and play with the kittens. I, unfortunately, have a full day of classes tomorrow (Saturday).
In: Peppermint mocha in the morning–breakfast of champions.