It sometimes appalls me how very little I do with my time. The Matt will be working ridiculous overtime this week, and then in his spare time setting a foundation with his brother, moving rocks for our future foundation and also cutting a winter's worth of firewood. I am baking cookies tonight and going out to dinner tomorrow. Those are my strenuous plans for the week. I'm also scheduled to Pilate this afternoon. Is that a verb? That should totally be a verb. I'm going to Pilate my ass off. And then bake cookies.
Matt suggested I bake him cookies: a. because he likes them and b. because it warms up the house. My mother used to have a lot of unwritten rules for our house growing up. No one ever opened a box of cookies before she did, we never had soda except for pizza night, and she never turned the heat on before Thanksgiving. That was always the big one, no heat before Thanksgiving. They call them sweaters and you wear them, layer upon layer, until the end of November come hell or hypothermia. I used to think it was just a stubborn New Englander who feels no cold thing but apparently for a house to be warm you must pay for the oil or the wood or god forbid the electricity. Funny how growing up and paying bills gives one such clarity.
Long story, completely new paragraph...I've been freezing lately. FREEZING. Cannot be warmed, immune to heat, clinically dead except for the breathing. I think my blood circulates like three inches before it's like "dude, it's cold out i'm going home for cocoa". It's really very annoying. Particularly as it's induced Matt to sarcasm. He's the most completely sincere person I've ever known and I've driven him to sarcasm with my whining. "Maybe it's the weight?" my ass. Ofcourse it's the weight, chubby is the ultimate layering. 30 pounds is the sweatshirt you never have to tie around your waist. I've become one of those girls who is always cold and I'm not even at goal. Imagine how acerbic I'll have my partner by then...maybe he'll start reading the New Yorker.