I am knee-high in envelopes and having trouble maneuvering gracefully through my days. Over and above the envelopes that arrive daily in the form of junk mail, legitimate correspondence, and personal communication (which I love, don't get me wrong), there are our Christmas card envelopes, envelopes for R & V's kid birthday party, and envelopes for R & V's family birthday party. I have had my fill of this kind of envelope for today.
Instead, I would like to be enveloped in bed, uninterrupted by child disturbances, for a complete eight hours. Or I would like to drive into San Francisco, enveloped in a coat and big cashmere scarf, to look in the store windows first downtown, then along Hayes, and then along Fillmore. Or I would like to sit in a movie theatre enveloped by the aroma of popcorn and watching House of Flying Daggers. Or I would like to lay on the couch enveloped under a blanket at midnight, staring at the Christmas tree so sublimely decorated by my little family.
I think what this amounts to, mostly, is that I'm sleepy.
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