In which we dither

[desperance]

I had meant to go into town this morning. Take the laptop, maybe spend the day. It is irrefutable that if I put myself somewhere - on a train, or in a strange town - where I am isolated from distractions, I do a lot more work; to a lesser extent, I can achieve the same at the Lit & Phil. I am not good at staying there for the four- or five-hour stretches that yield real productivity, but I do keep trying. (Went in for the afternoon t'other day, with a flaskful of something that was not coffee. Came home with ten pages. Which is not phenomenal, but twice a day's work if I only stay at home.)

However. It's snowing. It's been snowing all morning, and I seem to be turning wimp. Once I get there, the Lit & Phil is actually a lot warmer than this house; but, twenty minutes of brrr! lie between there and here. And there will also be the need to come home, soon or late. Possibly in the teeth of a blizzard.

Maybe I'll stay home for lunch, and look out of the window later...