Overly Invested

I've watched a lot of NFL football this year. I feel a void in my life where the NFL was, and I'm sad about this Sunday's game, more than anything, because its the season's last. I've tried to get a little more involved in the presidential campaign as the football season draws to a close for a new kind of play by play drama, but, frankly, I can't even bring myself to hate Mit or John nearly as much as I've come to hate Bill and Tom. And, apparently, its the hatred that fuels me.

I have surely complained enough by now about how precious few hours of sleep we get each night. Last night was particularly bad, yet, in the few hours of sleep I managed to scrape together between the episodes of crying and swearing (Yeah, that Conrad..he has a potty mouth!), I managed to have TWO dreams about the Patriot's coach, Bill Belichick. The most memorable being when he came out with the cut-off sleeves of his signature grubby hooded sweatshirt gathered and hemmed around his elbow. He looked at me, and in the same menacing face that he saves only for snubbing Tony Dungy grunted "There! Are you happy?"

Maybe in the off season, I need to find a less consuming past time...perhaps sewing....sweatshirts!

Go Giants!