It’s flipping freezing in this house this morning, which I had extra time to appreciate because for some reason I woke up around a quarter to seven and at 5 after determined I really probably wasn’t going back to sleep, so I might as well get up. Sigh. Anyway, as far as I can tell the pressure’s gone off on the boiler again, and I’m not actually sure how to fix it, so I’m waiting for Ted to get up (which I hear him doing now) to turn the damned heat back on. Stupid house. (Ted, who apparently has psychic powers, came downstairs, blew me a kiss, and went directly to the boiler and is now fixing it.)
OTOH, I’ve gotten 700 words written while huddling under my blankets and hiding in my warm fuzzy shirts and trying to keep a cat on my lap for the body heat. A mere 300 more and I’ll have met my minimum quota for the day. I can probably do that by 10.
Hey, I hear the heat kicking on. It’s a miracle.
Yesterday was a big fat failure in many respects. I didn’t go to the gym, I didn’t get anything on my thinks to do list done, I barely walked anywhere…:p OTOH, I watched Torchwood and got my words written, so I guess you take what you can get. Or do. Or something.
Back to work.
ytd wordcount: 27,900
miles to Minas Tirith: 56
We’ve been in the teens here in Central Oregon so it’s a might chilly and I can sympathize. However, I’m at that stage in my life when I prefer the cold. The colder the better. Think hot. Then flash. Put the two together and that’s what I’m talking about. Ooph.