Go away, I'm working.
I've just sent off a bundle of work actually, so my usual time-wasting activities should resume shortly.
I have spent all my procrastination efforts in diligently reading about other people's joys and woes rather than recording my own. I've left numerous comments in an effort to have my presence felt but on subsequent examination found many of them didn't take, leading me to think I'm more preoccupied and less computer-savvy than I previously believed — I'm considerably multitasking-challenged. Just know that I've been thinking of you.
Both Helena and my so-called husband have been pretty cranky this week, mostly, I assume, in response to my own aura of stress. My presence has been felt by them.
Also, all our lightbulbs are burning out at the same time. I mean that literally, around the house, not as some enigmatic metaphor.
Here's a boring anecdote, but with a horrific image: This morning Helena was retelling one of her famous boo-boo stories, when in early September she tripped on her way to the car, scraping both knees and hands, and she learned the lesson that it's dangerous to run in the street. This time she adds, "et les voitures vont marcher sur moi."
Stay tuned for notes on the reading by Julian Barnes that I'll be attending this evening (and the related likely misadventures of Papa entertaining and bathing the toddler alone). Also, on Don Quixote, which I plan to finish before I sleep tonight. And adventures in Helena's book nook.
That is all. For now.