you don't smell like Santa...

Sadly, these days I smell more like tea tree oil, a little puke and, dare I say, dead people. This new year has got me in the throws of chaos already. From the panic of a possible head bug exposure (tea tree oil) to paranoia of bed bugs at a hotel in New Hampshire (more oils) to the puke bug (puke) and a couple of funerals (need I say more?), I can say that I am far from the normal smells that usually surround me - brownie batter, antibacterial hand sanitizer and coffee. Not any big offers to bottle this concoction, but it works for me, or in the least, cats aren't following me home like they did when I worked for the old Cap'n Newick. Since I have been so entwined in post holiday/family drama lately, I have had little time for myself and writing - heck, I still can't find my kitchen island and the toddler reminded me that "Santa Hohoho is all gone now", despite the wooden version of him that has taken up permanent residence on our window sill. I woke last night with fears that I have forgotten my voice and my one-handed typing skills and that I might have inadvertantly traded texting for my keyboard. But here you are, dear computer friend and the words are flowing like beer at a keg party. I don't usually succumb to the doldrums this time of year, and I can truly say that I am grateful for the snow and the enormous snow fort that is under construction on my front lawn, but I think that I might need a smidge of green grass. I long to open the windows and air out the house and my soul and walk to the bus stop without wool and down from my eyeballs to my knickers. So today, I might turn on all the lights and stare out the window and imagine my gardens and flowers and kids in t-shirts and barefeet and then turn them off so I don't waste electricity and then, of course, bundle back up to get the short people at the end of their school day adventure. It could be worse right? I could smell like stinky feet!