I don't know what I'm still doing up. Drinking warm Coke and eating pretzels. And spewing forth yet more brilliant prose for your literary enjoyment. Don't get too excited. I've been sitting here for a while now, and I'm not coming up with much.

I've decided I don't want to go outside for a few days. I went around to various places today, buying Christmas gifts, which was enjoyable, but cold. It's -3 degrees outside right now, with a windchill somewhere around -22 last time I checked, so I don't really understand why the forecast still predicts today's low will be 9. Obviously, someone is wrong.

Meanwhile, I am simply content to sit on the couch all day, wrapped in blankets. And sleep whenever I feel like it. When I'm not sleeping, I'm helping my dad write a website for the greenhouse. He is getting very good at it. I'm getting very good at watching. You should take a look, it would make him happy. http://home.comcast.net/~hillsidegh/

I really must find something else to do. I've run out of laundry. But I have learned that I like to iron things. I have to make Lynn's Christmas present. That's what I'll do tomorrow.

Why is it that by about paragraph #4 these very well-thought-out and structured compositions of mine always seem to degenerate into a series of choppy sentences, disclosing a great deal of largely irrelevant information that I'm sure you all care very little about? I think it probably has something to do with the limited length of my attention span. At least I am using punctuation properly.

One more piece of irrelevant information before I go. The cold temperature outside is making the walls pop. Sounds kind of like someone is throwing things at the windows.

Okay. Goodnight.