limbo

Is it just me, or is the space between Christmas and New Year a seriously weird sort of non-space? Everything seems poised in the gap between recovering from Christmas, and waiting for New Year to hit. I find myself drifting around achieving not much, other than assaulting the kitchen with a flame-thrower yesterday to clear up after 16 people for our usual Boxing Day braai. (Which was a Good Time, TM, and worth every bit of cleanup). Now that I have caught up on sleep from a Christmas spent with a teething niece (stocking-opening zero-hour: 5am on Christmas Day), I am also having particularly weird dreams. Last night was about horse-racing, in somewhat plaintive mode because I was being dragged around an enormous racetrack grandstand by a bunch of people who were adamant that the whole point was to gamble, whereas I just wanted to watch the pretty horses run. I think my subconscious thinks I'm basically rather boring.

Scored on the Xmas loot this year: my Amazing Mother weighed in with both a knife-sharpener (yay! shall now slice own fingers with added efficiency) and a digital camera, which just goes to show what happens if you get all wistful all over your blog. This latter acquisition was particularly useful this morning when I intercepted Golux chasing a small brown blur up and down the back courtyard; a brief tussle resulted in Golux incarcerated in the bathroom and the brown blur incarcerated in a plastic jug, at which point it resolved itself into a creature slightly shorter than the length of the "Awwwwwwwwwwww!" it elicited:



The blurriness is both because I'm not too good with this digital camera thingy yet, and because the darned mouse was running round and round the bottom of the jug. Have tipped it out into the wild bit under the tree across the road, with the obligatory cry of "Fly, my pretty!" - I just hope the darned felines don't immediately go and unearth it again.

Now, weird limbo-feeling notwithstanding, I shall go and work. Work worky work work work.