Dug out the flannel sheets.

Cleared a bajillion items off the fallow side of the bed. My gorgeous paisley Pottery Barn sheets (a wedding present) are tangoing in the washer. I have kinda/sorta eaten dinner, played a few hands of solitaire, had snippets of conversation with Middlest (who would probably have liked more, but I have the attention span of a flea and the self-preservation instincts of a British grenadier at the moment).

I am thoroughly peopled-out. I pushed and pushed and pushed at work today, got seven or more cases into the closed column, got through all of the incoming mail for 2.5 attorneys, calendared a few things for the one I'm backing up while her secretary is out on medical leave, pretty much ignored my To Do's, and got the mail out for two out of 2.5, maybe all of them. It was something of a blur. Kept hammering away at my inbox and sent items, and it was more or less under control when I logged off. All of which leaves me in fairly decent shape for Tuesday.

And knackered. I couldn't have accomplished this much without help from Above, so I'm thankful for answered prayers, and Heaven knows how many ministering angels reminding me to eat, to stay hydrated, to step away from the desk for a minute or so and just move.

I blasted my Gordon Lightfoot station on Pandora on the drive home, and I was surprised to find that I could sing along with Hootie just fine, and in his octave not my own, except for one or two of his deepest notes. This evening, Ms. Ravelled is a baritone.



Too tired to cry. Too busy grinning at Willie playing backup.