This week has me tired and scratchy all over. My throat, eyes and ears itch, the result of my lingering cold. My skin is dry from the weather, and no matter how I moisturize and condition I wind up scratching behind my knees and at my scalp. I went to sleep at 7:30 pm last night, and woke up 10 hours later to get the kids to school. I have been ready to climb back into bed since 7:30 this morning.

I am, further, tired of the jobs, the kids, the lack of free time. And I have the itch to run, as always. I am resisting. At least I have a few excellent reasons to stay and stick it out.

So far though, judging from these four days, I like 2007. Much better than I liked 2006. Last year my dominant emotions were high expectation, academic exhaustion, and premature nostalgia. This year, I hope rather than anticipate, and when I get out of these jobs I will not miss them. I spent so much of my last two semesters at Agnes missing it before it was gone. The whole year was a long goodbye. When I get my ass out of Dodge this time, I won't feel much but exultation.

This New Year's Eve was strange, different, and nice. David took me out for dinner and then promptly collapsed, leaving me a couple hours to go to a party before waking him up for a kiss. Did you know that I'd gone to the same party for years? In a basement in Indiana. With people that I have loved forever. The nice, different thing about this New Year's was that I wasn't running the party and that I just got to enjoy it. It was nice not to know everyone, too. The only big plan I had to make was my outfit, which was killer. A turquoise tube dress with a gold shrug and some leopard print heels. I was stunningly costumed, if I do say so myself.

Still, I missed Valpo. I missed the same old party. I missed my oldest friends, particularly the expatriates. I'll always miss something, I guess.

You might wonder what I've done with 2007 so far. I've processed some summer applications. I've tried to find a new haircut. I am so tired of this one. It's long! It keeps finding its way into my eyes and mouth. But mostly today I've been dorking out on Song of Ice and Fire, trolling forums, and sorting through theories about Jon Snow's parentage. Oh, yeah. Fantasy literature. It's my biggest geek weakness.

Can I take a moment to complain about one super geeky thing? I suppose I can because this is my livejournal and I feel like embarrassing myself online with my epic proclivity. Ok, so Melanie Rawn is, generally, one of those mediocre fantasy writers that gives the genre a bad name and inspires skinny boys with sporadic facial hair to paint ceramic models of dwarves and other bullshit. I do not do that, by the way. I have never played a game of Dungeons and Dragons, and I often make fun of people who fake fight with styrofoam swords in so-called "Role Playing Games." I felt that needed to be clarified, because I'm defensive of things that I like that are not cool. I am a pretentious fucker. I am a discerning dork. Cut me some slack. But anyway, Melanie wrote one trilogy that has held my heart and imagination captive for some years. The Exiles trilogy. Or, rather, almost trilogy. As of a week and a half ago, I have been waiting for the third book for TEN YEARS. *blinks* Fuck all, ladies and gentlemen. I want my book! I NEED IT!

I am frustrated about this. Genuinely, gut-bustingly frustrated, and I wanted all of you to know it. Now that I've typed it I feel better about the universe, and I think I will return to work. Tonight I will reread Game of Thrones until I fall asleep.

I hope your 2007s are treating you well. Rest up. I have the feeling this one's going to be a strange ride.