They also serve, who only stand and wait

[desperance]

So today has been all about getting stuff done, ticking it off mental lists; and the best of those was the pain de campagne, which is quite frankly a bready triumph, and the worst of it was taking stuff to the post office, where I stood in the queue for a measured half an hour, and it was hot and I felt ill and anxious and unhappy.

Still. They are gone now, they are out of my hands, the accounts to the accountant and the CEM to America. Even worrying won't help them now. Which will of course not stop me, because I always anticipate disaster at this point; it's kinda cool to have them both off at the same time, to compress two separate worries into one.

While I worried, I did think I might spend the rest of the week doing stuff that was not work, on account of being more or less caught up and having to start a new novel on Monday and so on and so forth; but then I remembered that I have a short story to write, and it would be a good thing to have that out of the way before the book begins. So. Perhaps that, then.

Tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow. Today I have a cat in my lap, who does just need to be reduced to purry idiocy by application of a stroking finger beneath the chin; and I have olives and taramasalata, and did I mention the bread? And I might just open a bottle of wine and let the day go hang by, what's left of it. I might feel that I had done enough, y'know...?