More blahness...

...rain and more rain. And when it isn't raining, it's gray. I HATE gray.

I have an insatiable need for sunlight, a craving that often drives Hubs batty.

Oh, and as for the realtors who've had the misfortune to take me on -- well, let's just say their relief at depositing me on the doorstep of an appropriately sunny home has been damn near tangible.

When Hubs and I moved to San Antonio in the fall of 2004, it took two weekends of house-hunting before I finally deemed one particular place to be light enough to consider.

And mind you, we were only looking to rent at the time.

"Nope," I declared several times. "This is a cave. I can't live in a cave."

Hubs, on the other hand, loves a dimly lit room. He couldn't understand my lack of interest in houses that boasted only a sliver of sunshine.

"But look at all this storage space. This is perfect."

"No way. If you make live here, the Tootie-post-partum experience will seem like a freaking Pollyanna picnic compared to my maternity leave this go-round. I cannot deal with gray. I cannot sit in the dark house, hormonally challenged, nursing a newborn, weeping over weather forecasts. Give me sun. Give me light. Give me a house that has decently sized windows and more than one per room, for God's sake."

By the time we moved back here, he had learned.

"No," he kept telling our realtor, "she won't like that. Too dark."

One house we didn't even enter, due to a lack of windows.

Besides, even before we made the rounds here, I'd already settled on the perfect place, based solely on some photos sent by friends of ours.

Big picture window, flanked by two large rectangular ones, in the living room. Bay windows in the kitchen. French doors and two additional windows in the master bedroom.

Light. Lots of it.

Sold.

We've never yet covered the living room window, which the means our neighbors are treated each night to the Crazy Family Show.

I don't care. I hate drapes or curtains or whatever you choose to call them. Blinds? Marginally acceptable. At least you can yank them up and leave them there. So let the neighbors gaze upon Hubs' ripped, stretched-out boxers in nightly horror. Because when I walk into my living room each morning, I find a space already filled with sunshine.

Except for the last several days.

Am at the end of my patience. And February looms. Ugh.