Winter is insidiously creeping into our lives. Slowly, until it can strike with full, unmerciful force.
I hate winter. We plan to go south for a vacation early next year, but in the meantime, I have to contend with it now. I had to scrape car windows yesterday until my arms ached and were permenantly stuck in that ghoulish way you see in cheap horror movies.
I put an extra blanket on my bed, too. I'm the kind of sleeper who lives in flannel pygamas, sleeps in her socks with an eye mask, and ear plugs. The ear plugs are because I snore and wake myself up.
In my latest novel, it's summer. And since I'm too cheap to put up the heat to give the impression of warmth, just to help with my writing, it's getting hard to capture the feeling.
And daylight is getting weaker. I want to hibernate. I want to suffer from SAD so much so I only want to sleep.
In jammies, socks and under that extra blanket.