Depressing Like the Day After Christmas

Toddler Close-up

My muse is gone.  The little two year-old snot-nosed bundle of bounce left yesterday with his mother to fly home.  My house has not felt this empty and lonesome since the last time they came for a visit (and left, subsequently).

I don’t have the strength to write a real post today.  I’m too sad about my hollow house.  When I got home from dropping my sister and her baby off at the airport, I went down to “their room” in our basement, and literally wept.  (Dramatic, much?)  I know it’s so cheesy, but she’s my only sister.  She’s one of ten—maybe even five—people in the world who truly know me and accept me as I am.  So cut me some slack for mourning the time I won’t get to spend with her until Christmas (and it’s only maybe Christmas, at that).

I feel weary.

Luckily for you, before my favourite sister and nephew departed, I mustered up the energy to write a guest post for my friend Rachel over at Dreaming of the Country.  Rachel is British, and as you know, I love the British.  I used to think I could even become English if I tried hard enough. Obviously, that didn’t happen, but you’re welcome to swing by Dreaming of the Country to see what happened when I finally visited the glorious Motherland for the first time.  (Here’s a hint: Awful photography is involved {and included.})

The post is here.

Do me a favour, if you will: Comment on Rachel’s blog, so I don’t feel like a lame guest poster (even though I actually am).  It would help lift my spirits today.

About Camille

I'm Camille. I have a butt-chin. I live in Canada. I was born in Arizona. I like Diet Dr. Pepper. Hello. You can find me on Twitter @archiveslives, Facebook at facebook.com/archivesofourlives, instagram at ArchivesLives, and elsewhere.
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