I think I'm just gonna go to bed and call it a day
Gah. I had a relentlessly mediocre, fruitless day--the kind of day you can't really call "bad," but where nothing worked out the way it was supposed to. I didn't have the den to myself like I thought I would, I didn't have the borrowed laptop like I thought I would, the dogs wanted in and out even more frequently than usual (to the point where I just propped my book on the back of the recliner and read standing up rather than bother sitting down), and it was hot all day. Not lovely and cool like last week at all--more "mildly stifling." It was the kind of day where I planned on typing up a big scene I was looking forward to and ended up watching three hours of The Pick-Up Artist instead, with chapters of Something Wicked This Way Comes between commercials.
By the way: if you have a broke-ass, unwanted laptop PC with 1) Word and 2) a floppy drive 3) that will run dependably 4) in the neighborhood of, like, $50-100, let me know. All I want is a juiced-up typewriter so I can work downstairs. I don't care about the internet; I don't even care about solitaire. I just want to be able to type downstairs and then transfer what I've done to the computer upstairs at night.
Also, I felt bloated and crampy all day, and now I'm tired and cranky. It was just that kind of day.