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One of the nicest things you can do for yourself when you live alone is to make homemade meals. It really does make the place feel like home, and not just a crash pad. The cat is doing his part, with all the meowing and cuddling, but there’s something to be said for the aroma of garlic new potatoes wafting about the house, especially on a chilly winter night. And by chilly I mean 56 degrees outside, and that’s just too cold. I’ve lived in Southern California my whole life, and if it’s not at least 75 out, then I’m wearing double layers and thermal socks. How did I survive in Tahoe? I think it had something to do with R.E.I., and a willingness to pile on layers every time I so much as took out the trash.
I joked that the last two weeks were the all the time off that I need for the year, but it’s at least a little true. That was SUCH a vacation. I’ve never vacationed so hard in my life. I’m ready for structure, I’m ready to clean my house and get up way early in the mornings to a cat that’s pissed off about the noise from the alarm. I don’t know how he conveys that, but he does, unless every single morning I’m in such a sleepy state that I’m misinterpreting his behavior and sortof anthropomorphizing him. And that’s entirely possible.

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