As I type this, I have a sore lump on my head from two nights ago, when the Missus & I went to a Christmas party downtown, and I drank too much free beer and wine. I clocked my head on a bell tower afterwards. Hence, the lump. How did I clock my head on a bell tower? By drinking too much free beer and wine, then attempting to ring the University of Georgia victory bell louder than it has ever been rung. I ended up getting pulled up and off my feet by the rope, right into a wooden crossbeam. I could have just let go and avoided the injury, but I did not.
These lights are strung across our front porch. They're a lot prettier at night. Not unlike fireflies, that way. And stars. And most cities. When I look at this picture, it makes me feel the same way that Sunday afternoons do: Somber, tired, and looking forward to the future, when things hopefully will be a little bit more incandescent. It's sort of like cabin fever. Sundays are almost always like that for me.
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