(no subject)

So I got up and I rolled out of bed and I listened to some Mongolians for a while, and then I put on a very gold and black face and went out to get the papers from the lawyers so we could look them over. And we stopped at the grocery store on the way back just for pizza rolls and ranch dressing, one thing which I couldn't find at the last grocery run and one that I forgot to get. And then we came home and in between writing bouts, we looked over the end of life packet of papers. That is really goddamn depressing, I tell you what.

I did get some work and some picking up and such done after that, some cleaning, some doing of dishes and some writing and some putting away of dishes and then everything got slightly derailed when the boy saw Archimedes again (yay!) and we discovered he was limping, not putting any weight on a hind leg (BOO). So we called the local 24-hour vet to make sure they'd take him even though he was feral, they apprised us of their new procedures and said yes, just give them a heads up so they could take precautions, and they'd deal with him. So that's something, and now we just have to catch him. He disappeared under our house and hasn't been seen since, although the food in the bowl in the garage has diminished somewhat while both the ferals we know about were out front.

Bleh. I got the other shelf in the office cleaned out so I could put things from the office bathroom shelves in there (or upstairs, or anywhere else, a lot of them are empty binders anyway) and then I could move my absurdly large makeup collection down there and I am freaking exhausted. I am emotionally and physically exhausted. I don't want to do this. I want to be a safe household where we're all tucked up in our beds and the boy is working from home or something and not going back to a hospital tomorrow night where there could be a COVID patient. I don't want to have to spend an indefinite period of weeks living in a house where I don't go to bed with him at night and I can't go randomly get hugs or sit on his lap and dig my heels into the chair and go "whatcha waaaaatching." I especially don't want him to get COVID from a patient and, well, you know the rest if you've been following health care workers in the news or on social media. And yet when we're dealing with all the lawyer shit I am forced to confront it as a possibility a little harder than I'm comfortable with. And I'm exhausted. It's been a goddamn exhausting week, and it's the first week of Camp Nanowrimo, and ugh everything.

Buuuuut but. My nails are stamped and painted, I have two pairs of house slippers and a shitton of art supplies I'm going to dig into tomorrow? That's something, isn't it?

I'm going to take my Kindle and go to bed and say the hell with every other thing until tomorrow. It's been way too hard of a week.