No writing. The dishes remain unwashed. I pinned a cardboard box to the wall and beat on it for a while with a practice foil, to the Gladiator soundtrack played loudly. I went out for a run in the rain, though my "I sneer at inclement weather" expression was more a squint through fogged and dropletted spectacles. I have sorted the 200 or so of messages accumulated in my inbox since whenever. Listsrvs are an invention of the same devil who thought up aerobics. But I have reduced the messages to one screen, satisfied myself that there is nothing lurking in them, and I trust I finally have worn myself out.
posted by Anonymous at 01:18   comment? e-mail lynda@okalrel.org 0 comments