Sunday Afternoon

In the same mode of "Don't you just hate January" I found this in my writing log. I hope you enjoy it.

It was one of those Sunday afternoons which left you free, free to do as you please. The weather outside was cold and dreary, so cold and dreary that the warmth of the fireplace was paralyzing. You knew you should do something, anything to make use of this free time. Instead your head turns slowly from left to right. On the right is the hypnotic dancing of the fire in the grate. On the left is the gray dismal chill of a January afternoon. This right, left action is similar to the action of a tennis game, only this ball is one of thought passing from one side of the brain to the other. It was one of those Sunday afternoons that drove me crazy. All I really wanted to do was to go out snow-shoeing , but the freezing rain had put an end to that idea. Instead I was sentenced to spend time locked in this prison called home with a man called my husband. A man whose idea of fun is to assume a position of comatose repose, staring through half opened eyes at the blaring box of intellectual ridicule called a T.V. I can only ask the question "Why?" Why did the god of weather choose my Sunday to ruin?

I think there is a threat of freezing rain in the forecast... so forgive me I must fly and get some snowshoeing in before it is too late.

Frostily yours,
Cat x