twitchy itchy fingers

It's really cold. My knees ache, and my fingers feel stiff. 19º F with a wind chill factor that makes it feel like 8º. My wrist is cracking. Yet, for whatever reason I feel like I can't get to sleep without writing a brief note. I'm thinking about Dan Connor again. Actually, I'm watching Dan Connor again. He makes me swoon. Fills me with smiles little girls should have for their dads and then for their husbands. I like Dan Connor.

Generally speaking, I think women like men that are like their fathers. This is typically the case for women that have had men who positively influenced their lives. In my story, which mostly lacks a positive male character (save for my Granddaddy*). I've realized that I substituted my family's men with Dan Connor, Tim the Tool Man Taylor, and other white men in flannel shirts, work boots and tool belts. They go to work, they come home and eat dinner, joke, romance, build things and love their wives. This happy family exists and one day, like a coveted Barbie convertible, I would like to have one.

I don't want to sleep. There are always one or two nights a week where I can't seem to get my eyes to shut. I watch Roseanne and sulk about romance; I watch the Golden Girls and yearn for the future. At night, I can't wrap my head around the "right now" -I can't turn off. And then I sleep. When I wake, it's as though none of yesterday ever happened. In the morning I feel like a machine.

Here's another tidbit of information: When no one's looking, I drink straight from the carton.

I believe her:

*The foundation of my love for beards, button-downs and chest hair.

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