Yet Another Journal

Nostalgia, DVDs, old movies, television, OTR, fandom, good news and bad, picks, pans,
cute budgie stories, cute terrier stories, and anything else I can think of.

 Contact me at theyoungfamily (at) earthlink (dot) net

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» Sunday, December 31, 2017
No Fireworks Inside
It's been a quiet New Year's Eve day. I had a screaming nightmare last night and then was sick, so I slept in until nine. I really didn't feel like getting up at all. I didn't have the heart for it. James had gotten up a little earlier and had his breakfast. I had mine and just watched Dr. Pol. We had a grilled cheese sandwich and an orange for lunch and I put on The Nine Tailors, because the mystery starts on New Year's Eve. This is my second-favorite Lord Peter Wimsey story, and even if Ian Carmichael was much too old to portray young Peter going to war, I think including him in the wedding party worked better than having an information dump, which is fine for a book.

I took some time today to wash and dry the towels and of course the pills had to be sorted and the bed made. I was still feeling down by suppertime. Since we originally planned to go to Bill and Caran's party, we just ate a cursory bite of what was leftover for our party contribution, peanut pork in phyllo cups, and I put on "A Year for All Seasons" from M*A*S*H and Ellery Queen's "The Adventure of Auld Lang Syne," but didn't even have the heart to put on Rudolph's Shiny New Year. But I was feeling so emotionally weary, and while I would have loved to have seen everyone, the idea of driving 45 minutes across town exhausted me, and the idea of doing it again after midnight exhausted me even further.

So we stayed home and watched Rogue One and soothed a nervous terrier as the booms went off outside, and then switched to Steve Harvey.

Been a bummer of the past two days. I was so determined 2018 would be better. Now I'm not so sure.

"It doesn't matter whether you feel useful or not when you're moving from one disaster to another. The trick, I guess, is to just keep moving."
. . . . Fr. Mulcahy, M*A*S*H

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