Monday. Salad. Tuesday Salad. Wednesday. Salad. Thursday. Salad. Friday Bourbon Burger Because It Was Friday.

I've been going 14 hours a day planning, grading, teaching, coaching, cheering, and supporting 20 students in a winter session research course. And I've been good. Salads. When I got up yesterday, finished the two projects on my desk, I said, "I'm exhausted." So an invitation to the Dive Bar for lunch seemed perfect. I needed to drop off a gift to Yellow in West Haven anyway so it was two birds with one stone. 

Actually three. I ate and it felt great. I've been kidding that midlife is looking like a bulldog on its hind legs standing up his skinny legs. The round body is real. Mr. Potato-head on toothpick legs (covered in psoriasis). Beautiful.

I did grade last night a few more drafts that came in, rearranged furniture (which I hate, but will live with until spring because rearranging furniture is exhausting, and even cleaned floorboards because there was energy for it. This all means that guilt kicks in this morning and I need to get moving on semester projects because, well, the semester is here in just a week.

And I'll be grading. And planning. And all the above, but moving to soup. It finally feels like winter out there and middle-aged bones feel those temperatures completely different. I used to say, "I'm good to go above 32 degrees," but I want to add 10 degrees to that. It hurts to be outdoors moving. 

But I'll move, because....well, the walrus body. What else is new?