So I'm pretty sure Gary and I went to bed at 8:30 last night.
Just kidding! It was 8:25.
Gary at least has an excuse, because he gets up at 3:45 every morning for work and then refuses to take a nap in the afternoon for some reason that is beyond my comprehension. Me? I just like sleeping. A lot.
I blame Colorado winters. Sundown at 4:30? That's cheating. We'd have a little more daylight if we weren't directly east of Pikes Peak, which has robbed us of seeing sunsets ever - numero uno on the list of things I miss about Texas - but maybe I shouldn't complain, because living right up against the Rocky Mountains is alright I guess.
Along with the early darkness comes colder weather, about which I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, snow is magical, yadda yadda, but on the other hand it greatly increases the chances of me falling on my ass. Hard.
Yesterday morning, for example, there was some lingering frost on my back steps from the night before, but I was too busy being late and trying to coax Brutus onto his running line as quickly as possible to be bothered with something as trivial as inspecting the steps for ice...so the steps and I made a compromise: they'd keep on being icy, and I'd do a ridiculous, arm-flailing dance on one leg for all my neighbors to see in hopes of keeping myself upright. So really, it was a win-win. For the steps.
The commencement of winter also ushers in the Era of Disappointment. Every morning before I get out of bed, I will send up a little prayer that there will be so much snow on the ground that none of us could possibly make it into work, meaning they'll have to give us a snow day. And 99 out of 100 mornings, I'll rush to the front door to look outside, only to find it appears we've been granted an early spring.
So bring it on, Winter, you saucy minx. (MAN that woulda sounded better if I were British.)