The clickity-tickity-tick of thousands of needles fighting unsuccessfully to stab through the shingled roof over my head woke me around six this morning.
Half-blinded by unfulfilled REMs while blinded the rest of the way by the nearsightedness I’ve been cursed with since childhood, I groped the nightstand for my glasses before stretching over to reach the window shade.
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Even in my bleariness, I clearly recognize winter’s last big ”eff you.”
View from my living room 7 a.m.
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Don’t be selfish – share this on social media. The writer needs to prove to his wife what he's up to all day at home. Cheers!
