Pure Krevil

I didn't think it would happen so soon--the numbskulled, shivery epoch of possum-like slowness and mental sloth that typically befalls me from February to April. I thought I could man up and think my way out of a paper bag for a few more weeks, thus limiting the amount of time spent in the Dumb Zone. But nooo.

The diagnosis was confirmed when I was watching Caillou (a core symptom right there) with Little Unit and silently cursing myself because it was above freezing, surely not so cold to begin tubing out without even attempting to run around outside. 

But then it happened. 

"Sweet!" I said a little too enthusiastically when I realized what episode it was. (Having a canon of Caillou episodes in one's memory is surely also clinically significant; having a favorite, probably moreso. )

It was the one where Caillou's friend's older brother Billy totally rocks the house with his tuba. His marching band friends join in, and-- wait for it--they take the jam session to the street for a balls-out impromptu parade!

Rock on, Billy!