Updating on the Spot!

With love for the Janets.

These are among my favorite hours of the week. House cleaning and laundry are accomplished, we have supped on some righteous six-hour-simmer chili, and I've got plenty of cold Miller and frosted glasses and playoff football. The Times awaits, and so does John Cheever. But no timetable, no rush.

And no alarm tomorrow.

The snow is melting somewhat, and with the exception of the resultant crashing icicles, I'm in favor. This is the time of year that stalls. Come March, time disinigrates until high summer. But from now until then time crawls, slugged down by dreams of escapism and realities of work and snowbanks. I've mostly kicked depression, but these days can get me.

Not today, though. Not when the work of the weekend is done and I can fuck off with impunity the rest of the way. This is what I live for, these moments of repose. It's my time.