Today’s attempt at filing revealed that there was too much paper to fit into the Current Year file drawer, so I went downstairs and rustled up a Banker’s Box, pulled the soon-to-be-old-year files, and put them in the box, then recycled a bunch of old folders for 2011 files. Industry, of a sort.
In anticipation of the storm yet to hit, Steve and I have charged our various implements of destruction, those including Haysus the Asus; the Leewit; and both cellphones. We are, I believe, As Ready as We’re Gonna Be™.
In between doing the filing and taking a nap (waiting for snowpocalypse is hard!), I wrote a couple words.
And now I’m going to go find a glass of wine and a sammich.
G’night.
Progress on The Book Presently Known as George:
16,671 words/100,000 OR 16.67% complete
The three streeters were sadly familiar — Hank Regis, with his right hand in a splint; Mort Almonte, with his nose at a funny angle; and Danny Bell, swearing and sweating while the tech took stitches up a long, deep cut in his arm. By rights, there should’ve been two more, but maybe Parfil and Dwight had got lucky.