It's snowing outside. Or rather, drizzling. It's not committing to either season out there, just a general mix of unpleasant, chilly precipitation.
S. is outside somewhere, rehearsing scenes for his job as a historical interpreter/actor this summer.
I'm inside, my feet cold and my lap full of warm computer, sipping tea and watching my sweet peas grow the best they can in the half-light that makes it through the clouds. My knee hurts like it always does when the weather's like this, damp and cold. Between that and my ankle full of twinges (and my sore wrists, and does anyone else notice that their hip joints kind of click when they do sit ups? No? Just me, then?) I could be an old lady.
Joints are apparently not my friends.
Which means that when I'm an old lady I may not be as independent as I would wish to be.
But that's in the future, the very distant future, and I'm very good at not thinking about possible unpleasant futures if I can be persuaded to think about things like how to kill the darkspawn in Soldier's Peak or what life would be like in a zombie apocalypse or how to build a tree house in medieval Europe.
Or what I should make for supper when my sure-to-be cold man gets home.
Which reminds me, I should be in the kitchen. ;)