Tuesday. Cold and dim.
Slept hard and late. So that‘s good.
I did not gather the trash and recycling yesterday, and am not going to do so this morning. Next week sees a return to Schedule.
Breakfast was muffin, orange, tea. Kettle on for second cup of tea.
Today, I’ll make a grocery order and have it delivered. I suppose I ought to do that earlier, rather than later. I also have a pile of stuff that was put aside for page proofs, which, yanno, I really don’t want to do, not least because they fall into that large category of things that are insipid and pointless to accomplish without Steve on-hand to offer insights, angles of approach, and random snipery.
I *would* like to spend some time with my story, so I may throw adulting to the wind and do that. What’s the point of being an adult if you don’t get to decide when NOT to adult?
I’ve started reading the 6th installment in Lord Julian’s adventures — A Gentleman of Unreliable Honor — and I’m beginning to get a little annoyed with him. This is either an artifact of having read so many in a row, or because I actually am feeling better and therefore more irritable (the author does now and then drop a narrative stitch; nothing major, and no business of mine, really, but I hit one during yesterday’s reading and gritted my teeth).
As reported elsewhere, the cats are at their stations.
. . . and so it goes.
How does it go with you?
Tuesday morning cat census:
