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[personal profile] desperance
The last couple of days, they've had their tea an hour earlier than usual, on account of my going out and gadding about with poets and suchlike.

I did warn them not to regard this as a precedent, but they can't have been listening. They've been expectant for the last half-hour already, sprinting to the kitchen every time I move. Now I've settled in at the computer, and they are registering their displeasure by behaving badly. Barry is destroying wallpaper when I'm not looking, furniture and cardboard boxes when I am; Mac has rediscovered the elastic bands and is twanging sullenly.

As you know, I never myself complain; but - in other news - my right hand, elbow and shoulder all hurt and/or ache, independently of each other. Too much of everything, I guess, though I really don't feel like I've worked particularly hard the last couple of days. I've finished shelving the books - and, look! Empty shelves! I clearly don't have enough! - so today it's been about scrubbing the floor (little by little, a couple of square metres at a time), hanging pictures, shifting the wine from Up to Down (look! empty wine rack! I don't have enough of that either!), just generally sorting stuff.

Then I thought I'd come up here and do some work, but I dunno. I got nothing. I am not in the giving vein, apparently. Maybe I'll just read the new Laurie R King; that's a professional obligation, I'm interviewing her at the Lit & Phil on Monday...
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