It is freezing! I have already called building maintenance to let them know that people get into work as early as 7:00 a.m., so the heat needs to be circulating by then. It is hard to type, or do any kind of work when your fingers feel like popsicles. I mean, even my feet are cold.

Some kind soul brought in pumpkin bread this morning. I have no lunch, to speak of, so the two slices I snagged may be my only sustenance for the day, which I hope goes quickly. This could be an annoying week because the two days I normally work downtown are going to be preempted for pressing workload here at home base. At least I am finishing out the week with a trip to Sarahbina's parents' house, and then next monday I am off!

And now for a total non-sequitir:

I did not tell Mr. R. about counseling yesterday. There was something of a window, but the crack was not wide enough. He asked how my new year was going so far. The only thing of note to share was the debaucle of a conversation with my father, and the subsequent, wrenching visit to see my grandmother. I did tell him, anecdotally, about the stalemate with my birth dad, but did not follow the trail into my decision to get some help processing everything. I told him instead about getting braids,and as I suspected, he thought this was a cool idea. He wondered why I didn't just get dreadlocks. I told him I thought braids were a bit neater.

As we ambled in and out of rooms at the museum yesterday he asked if I'd written any poems lately. I told him I had, and he asked about the process of draft and revision, and I said something banal. I'm just glad he didn't ask to see the poem. It is, of course, about him.

It's just a bit premature for him to read. I make enough declarations to him--in my writing--with my eyes--in my unhesitant 'yes' to his every question. He needs to make a proclamation or two before I let him read how much I love him again.