Hot Buttered Rum

So last night, after my long drive home in the extreme dark and cold of the Polar Vortex, I attempted to make myself a glass of hot buttered rum, based on Beppi Crosariol's recipe in the Globe. The only thing I left out was the sugar, thinking that a 'paste' of butter and vanilla ice cream was probably bad enough. To that, I added hot water and my Puerto Rican spiced rum. I sat in front of the fire and decompressed for a good long while and thought, okay, so this is winter.

Winter gets me down. I don't like it. I especially don't like being cooped up inside with E's kids, who are always obnoxiously behaved. It is getting to me in a really bad way. I am planning on vacating the rest of the winter, just as soon as I recover my home from my sad-sack tenant at the end of this month. I'm not sure at all what this will mean in the long run . . . certainly, I'm now fully committed to an alternative 'family' constellation - and notice I've used air quotes. This is an artificial approximation of family and his kids will never let me forget it.