we both wish I had something interesting to contribute

I feel so boring, but I'm going to try to summon something up for you, Internets. I know you miss my gentle Southern voice.

Our holiday travels are complete; I made Mr. Dill, math whiz, calculate how many miles we drove from December 23-January 3 and it was approximately 1300. I am tired of being in the car! And we still have a 26 hour round trip to D.C. in a little more than a week! I know that I should be getting juiced to visit a (practically) new city but all I can think about is the comfort of being back at home after all that.

The winter makes me go into hibernation mode. I add 5 or so pounds to myself during the holiday smorgasbord of eating, look down one day and realize I've lost all of the physical reminder of sun kissing my skin, put on a big ol' sweater and big ol' pants, and wish I didn't have to emerge back out into the world again until April. Winter makes me feel fat and pale and hopeless regarding spring's eventual return. I feel like I don't have anything interesting to contribute to conversations, and my desire to socialize disappears.

I think a combination of the holiday travel blitz and my aforementioned disinterest in the outside world kept me from merrymaking on New Year's Eve. Brandon had to go photograph Benjamin Hooks late that night and I laid up in the bed attempting to regain some kind of energy after finishing up quite a bit of shitty wine and shitty Moroccan chicken that I had made after being mislead by the fine folks at Everyday Food. I napped; I showered; but by the time he got home, I was still completely disinterested in going out and revelling with partiers. I just had that "Not in a mood for a party" feeling that I couldn't shake and that I know from experience doesn't make for a real fun time. So we skipped it. We stayed home, in bed, finished off the wine, and rang in the new year with some sweet lovin', after which the Mister fell asleep and I read Agatha Christie, ate pretzels, and listened to our upstairs neighbor sob in the New Year accompanied by some depressing-sounding tunes. Apparently she was a wee bit too wasted to click them off before passing out, because we awoke to her music streaming through our paperthin ceiling the next morning.

Bear with me folks; some sunnier me will return. I'm not depressed, actually; I just feel as though the blood that runs through my veins has thickened and left me slow to respond and disinterested in anything other than the most basic stimulation.