I could have ice skated to work this morning. The sidewalks in my neighborhood were all coated with about an eighth of an inch of ice. Despite the schadenfreude-ish hilarity of watching my dog trying to walk on the ice, I ended up walking in the street, which was only marginally better.

I also just discovered that I have accrued the maximum amount of vacation time that I can bank, 6 weeks. So I'm going to take the 24th off of work, just because I can (I hate the use-it-or-lose-it thing); even though it's a half-day of work that will cost me a full vacation day, I will replace it in a couple of weeks' worth of working. Whatever. I'm sure this is fascinating to you, my readers.

What can I say? I simply don't have that much to report. Spending a lot of my free time with the New Guy, M, which I feel weird posting about. Details especially. (It's going great, though. Go New Guy! You rule!) Other than that, I have been in a whirlwind of shopping and running errands and dealing with snow and ice and then collapsing in a chair or napping instead of vacuuming my apartment and doing laundry and cleaning the bathroom, all things I need to do. It's the fault of the fuckin' holidays, really; I can't blame New Guy for my lack of time for housekeeping. I can only partially blame him for me staying up too late several nights in a row. I am a grown woman who can Make Her Own Choices, but I have Poor Impulse Control.

I did, I think, manage to finish my shopping yesterday. I have everything in-house except maybe one or two gifts which are specific and easily purchased. Now it is time for the wrapping.