Rambling (Wo)man

I assume it’s snowing out there by now. I can’t confirm with my own reportage, because I’ve spent most of the day in bed. Yes, that Creeping Crud came roaring in on all cylinders overnight, so my day has mostly been about sleeping, hydration, a bit of iPad gaming, trying to read and not having the clear-headedness for that, medication, more hydration, and yes, more sleeping.

Not exactly the kind of day brimming with writing material. But I don’t want to drag my achy, germ-ridden body across the house to get the “box o’ writing prompts,” either.

So what’s a gal to do?

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Limping into 2015

I’m not one for making New Year’s Resolutions. But I’ve built up a handful of New Year’s traditions over the decades.

There’s the cliched gestures of celebrations — a good bottle of champagne, watching the countdown on TV, a shared kiss with Mr. Mezzo as one year turns to another. There’s also more idiosyncratic and introspective rituals — journal-writing, drawing a Tao card to discern the theme/intention for my year.

But however cliched, common, introspective or idiosyncratic, I have an entire bushel of New Year’s traditions that’s been a little bit off-track.

Because I slid into 2015 in much the same state I was recently bemoaning from so much of my 2014 experience: sick.

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