One doesn't expect the Spanish Inquisition

This was supposed to be a sunny beautiful Sunday afternoon where I locked myself inside to finish writing with occasional outings to play fetch with Sophie and to the corner store. It was supposed to be a day of revising and printing and enjoying the fruits of my cleaning labor and maybe later there would be an afternoon romp and in the evening the performance. I was supposed to respond to e-mails and phone calls I've missed or ignored or forgotten about in the past few days.

But it's raining. Now it's a light drizzle, but for hours there were torrential downpours and I ran from the emergency room lobby anyway and my shirt is still wet and I could or should take it off but I'm still trying to decide if I have the energy to prepare food so I can eat more than the five chocolate chip cookies and whether I want to lose myself in the world of Buffy or the world of grand theft auto: vice city, because I'm certainly not going to go ahead with those other "supposed to" activities.

Sophie hasn't left my legs since getting home, currently curled up uncomfortably on my left foot under the computer desk. She's missing me in a different way than usual.

And in-between, I got a call saying I'm approved for the apartment and when can you come in to sign the lease? and talked about what color pillows go well with orange and there's only one letter between the words "your" and "our" and when you use one, sometimes I want the other and vice versa, but mostly I just want my life to look a certain way right now and I'm feeling anxious about the month and more it will take to get there. I feel impatient, probably just as another way to procrastinate. And I'm probably just projecting my dissatisfaction with having to return to work tomorrow.

Unexpectedly I got to interact with Keetbabe's birds and for some reason I think that's what I will remember most of this day.

And I will write with a pen and paper instead.