January 17: Slow Day, Slow Month

Today seems to be going on forever.  In a little less than an hour, I have to teach my last class of the week.  Then I have one more dance open house to attend for my daughter.  The first part of the week pretty much flew by for me, but today seems to be on a slow, frame-by-frame advance.  Each task I complete has taken forever, and my tongue keeps worrying my broken tooth.  I'm afraid to even chew hard.  I have this vision of the entire tooth splitting right down the center and falling out in pieces.

To be honest, January has been a very slow month, frozen to a slight trickle, time-wise.  Of course, mid-winter in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan doesn't really encourage the swift passage of time.  Life in the U.P. is basically movement from house to car to destination to car to home.  We shift from one heated environment to another.  This morning, the temperature gauge in my car read -7 degrees Fahrenheit at 4:30 a.m.  I think we're supposed to hit ten degrees for a high this afternoon.  Eventually, this cold snap will end, and our days will return to normal (20- or 30-some degrees above); when we reach 30, people actually walk around outside in tee-shirts and shorts.  It's practically balmy.  I'm not joking.

Writing this post has killed another ten minutes.  It has also made me realize that nothing of any import has happened today.  That's a good thing.  Things of import generally mean past-due bills or broken teeth.  I'll leave the import to Stephen King and 11/22/63, which is a fantastic winter read.  Long and complex, full of the kind of literary fat that makes it perfect for January days and nights.

Saint Marty will take boredom any day.  He'll leave the import to the professionals.

Baby, it's cold outside