Show me what you have to show.

After nearly four hours of "staying in the room" I think I'm done. But I'm not printing out the drafts of work I'm submitting until tomorrow morning after having slept. Not that I'm anticipating major changes will be made at 7:30 am, but I need at least a little distance before printing them out.

I was interrupted once by the landlord who came by to talk about various repairs. My landlord adores Sophie and I'm amused by how affectionate he is towards her. His maintenance pal fixed out shower on the spot with my toolbox, and he's coming back thursday to fix the kitchen sink. We also discussed repair of our door buzzer which doesn't work 98% of the time. They left and I returned to writing only to be interrupted by....the buzzer. I hit "talk" and they said somewhat ominously "could you step outside for a moment?" I suddenly was paranoid that I was about to offed, mafia-style, by these two gentlemen I had just let in my house and with whom felt completely comfortable. I cautiously stepped into the foyer.

Turns out our buzzer isn't as broken -- we were just pushing the wrong button. It's the top one that say "Smith" and, um, the apartment number. How did I miss that before? The big "1F"? Doh.

My brain is starting to hurt again, so it's time to walk the dog and go to bed with some reading. This time it will be something educational like Entertainment Weekly.