Last night, before stand-up, I welcomed the new addition to my family. I was unable to speak at his Christening, and so I send this out to Leonatus:
"Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift;/ His comfort thrive, his trials well are spent./ Our jovial star reigned at his brith, and in/ Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade./ He shall be lord to Lady Imogen,/ And happier much by his affliction made."
And to Agnes:
"Fear no more the heat o' th' sun/ Nor the furious winter's rages;/ Thou thy worldly task hath done,/ Home art gone and ta'en thy wages./ Golden lads and girls all must,/ As chimney-sweepers come to dust."
(It'll always be a Cymbeline-esque adventure with Hannah downtown).
Took the day off. Didn't want to get out of bed today. The snow blower's dead, but there'll be no funeral dirge sung for it. I shovelled and then ate and now I'm looking for more food to eat. It's one of those inanimate days, stay on the ouch and vegetate and try and convince noreen to go get me a latte and a chocolate pecan pie bar. Maybe I'll go back to sleep.
What's the deal with all this snow?