On the upside, I yowled at my biz people for giving me a ridiculously short turn-around on an editorial request, and my page count for today has been cut in half, which is as it should be.
I *am* blowing my nose, damn it.
My stomach makes strange moaning noises--not of hunger, but of surfeit--sounding like a sick, tiny cow is trapped in there. Stupid gut.
It's TWO o'CLOCK. (Nearly.) How can it be TWO o'CLOCK?