'Twas Christmas Day in the Workhouse

I thought today might be a bit rough.

You know, what with one thing and another. It turned out not to be.

Various denizens of the apartment complex were merry, one guy dancing in his doorway having attacked the Christmas spirit with a couple of straws. The Soon To Be Ex Wife came over with the kids. They bought me a kettle, a posh one with a base unit that turns itself off. I like those.

In terms of loot, I also scored some rather fine tea (and have drunk a pot of Chai by myself, me really knowing how to push the boat out in no uncertain terms). I also have a Starbucks and Barnes and Noble Giftcard. Barnes and Noble will shortly be in receipt of their card in exchange for a couple of books; they don't have the range that Amazon has but since any books I buy in the next year are either going on ebay or being shipped home, I will wait for making landfall in the UK before attacking the books on the Amazon wishlist.

Anyway, I ate a non-christmas dinner and I have watched a bit of TV - on Joost, as it happens - and have done a bit of reading.

I'm tired now. The last couple of weeks have been exhausting, but today I'm really feeling it. I shall sleep shortly; assuming I don't pick up The Alienist by Caleb Carr, because it's a psychological profiling hunting serial killers book set in the late part of the 19th century, and because it's a foodie book. The author constructs some truely astounding meals, and reading them is actually nicer than eating them would be.

This is my third christmas on my own, which isn't bad considering my age, and I find that just for once the hoopla and the fuss isn't being missed at all. I'll take the peace and quiet, thanks, and hope that if you're reading this your coming year is also peaceful and quiet.

Merry Christmas.