CW for death of loved ones and the stress of grief at the holiday season. Storytime! I'll try not to make this unreadably long. (Cue Morgan Freeman voice: "she did not, in fact, not make this unreadably long") This is one of the two photos I have of Tim and my father (the other is a picture of Tim and I sitting on the couch with my dad and Barbara.

This is the post I would have written a few days ago when I was sick, if I'd had the spoons. I am currently writing this from the precise center of a couch crater, covered by dogs who have decided that my personal space is a myth and my fever-sweat is a localized atmospheric event they’d like to study. If you’re looking for the version of me that has her life together—the one who answers emails within forty-eight hours and doesn’t have a "floordrobe" (floor wardrobe! See what I did, there?!) that has officially gained squatter’s rights in the bedroom—please come back in 2027.

That's right, y'all, it's that time of year when my boss (me) takes me (also me) into her/my office to discuss what happened over the last 11-12 months and what I see going forward in the future. If I still worked for the Enginerding Firm, this would be the place where they'd try to get me super excited about a 1% raise. Well. JOKE'S ON THEM, I MADE NO MONEY THIS YEAR! SO A 1% RAISE IS BIGGER THAN THEY THINK! OK, let's get this annual review going, so I can cut out and go to my early staff Christmas party (and by that I mean my bed, with my pets, watching an episode of Murder She Wrote before I fall asleep at a shamefully early hour).