Zonked.

What imperfect, ungrateful creatures we are. Correction: I am.

My inbox has been empty for ten hours. I’ve been hoping for something from one or two sources – exciting sources – since 2.14 this afternoon when the last one arrived. Nothing.

Empty

Empty

Empty...

And then, about ten minutes ago, I checked again: Inbox (1) For the split second it took my eyes to move half an inch down the page, a little thrill of expectation took over. It turned out to be something from a regular correspondent I’ve known for years. Not exciting. Minor sense of deflation.

Isn’t that just so bloody unfair to the person who took the time to write to me? Don’t deserve any better, do I?

The wind has been howling like a hell hound today, driving the heavy rain horizontally. There’s no heating on in my house yet. Heat costs. And my expensive but ageing Swedish mountaineering coat has started to let the water through. So it’s cold and wet on the inside after I’ve been out to feed the birds, and it’s still cold and wet on the inside when I have to go out again. I’ve also been rather badly sleep-deprived this last week, although the cause of that particular problem is very welcome to bestow it upon me. So,

Too tired. Too cold. Too... morrow.