Today was okay except for a few lengthy frustrations, including but not limited to my incessant irritation with my hands. Everything is much more annoying when you are in pain and the shop closed fifteen minutes ago.

Rosie is writing me a cheque, but not without a lot of ridiculous brouhaha.

On the bright side, I have a day off tomorrow and plan to do nothing but a few loads of washing, a brief stint of vacuuming, and a long reading session of the second book in the Administration series, because there is no bad mood that cannot be transferred to Toreth and transmuted into frustrated adoration, much like my love for Felix Harrowgate.

Oh, and the air conditioning? $2500 later? Still not fixed. Fuck me sideways.