But I'm still here. I'm still reading. And I'm happy that there exist two people who actually missed me.
I just haven't felt like writing. Life is pretty good, I'm busy at work... but I am feeling quiet about it. Christmas was nice. We found our 100th geocache on New Year's Eve (well, during the day). We just took our tree to be recycled yesterday, and not because it really needed it, but because this was the last weekend the recycling centers were accepting them. It was still nice and green and dropped only a handful of needles as we stripped it and stuffed it in the tarp. I apologize, poor dignityless tree. You deserved better, but you will become mulch now and there are worse fates. (And for everyone else: noble fir. It was a really nice tree. It more or less stopped drinking right around Christmas, but still refused to die -- I think we could've kept it another week. I've never had a Christmas tree around on my birthday, and I was tempted, but Ken indicated that he did not wish to dispose of the tree on a work day and I *was* kind of allergic to it so I suppose it was time to let it go, though I'm going to miss those nights of turning off all the lights and gazing at the softly glimmering tree.)