quick pause

I am so tired. The house looks like a bombed out laundry and smells like a bakery, and if I didn't do most of my writing on the computer, my desk would be just as much a disaster area. As things stand, I can fix one thing and print another and add a scenelet to another with no scraps of external evidence. But most of what needs doing, in other than the "this event happens now" sense, is done, and most of what isn't done won't be done, so I might as well not worry about it. Right? Of course right.

In some ways I'm still not adjusted to living here. Where we lived in California -- it was the best place we could get with the limitations we had, but it was 20 minutes' drive to the nearest branch of our bank. (There were two at 20 minutes' distance. Nice.) And it wasn't that we'd picked an obscure bank. Our apartment was nearly convenient to a lot of things and actually convenient to none of them, and things were farther apart there. So I was a little stressed when it was 12:55 when I left to run my two small errands: getting gas in the car and depositing a check at the bank. It was 1:10 when I walked back in the door, missions accomplished. Which is reasonable, and it accounted for things not going perfectly efficiently -- there was no open spot at the gas station or in the bank lines when I got to each, so I had to wait at each, and the teller was chatty -- but I find myself figuring too much time for routine errands fairly regularly. Even now, and even though I have a horror of being late and far prefer being early.

I'm noodling with some fun fiction (not to be confused with fan fiction, which is not my thing), and I'm going to try to take a minute to sprawl and just breathe and get warm before I dress for dinner. It was a good idea to wear flannel and jeans to walk the dog, because it is distinctly un-warm here, but it's not going to cut it for the evening. Still: moment of burrowing in the duvet first.