I really ought to be reviewing my source material for Yuletide (again, the first attempt lasted about 200 words before I hated it to death) or finishing work. Or cleaning. God, why is there always so much cleaning to do?
Instead I'm sitting here bemoaning how fucking cold it is. Because it is, and I hate the cold.
I have no idea what I'm doing for christmas this year. I was angling to stay with dad and Kay, but I've just found out that my step-sister and her other half will be there, and I'm not sure I'm interested any more (not because I don't want to see her, we just have nothing in common apart from the marriage of our parents, and I don't really want to have to put up with her and her other half being couply because I am bitter and single, or something). I was pondering inviting people over to mine, but again I'm not sure if I want to. Hibernating could be a plan, but, blah. Christmas is weird for me.
I'm quite sad that
Sir Patrick Moore has died. We were talking about him in the office the other day, wondering what had happened to him.
( Fannish stuff, because I am never sure what is a spoiler or not )That's probably about it for now. I need to get on with work, and try and figure out if taking the potatoes out the fridge now will warm them up at all before I peel them (I hate peeling cold spuds). And possibly find a blanket, as it is bastardingly cold and I can feel my shoulder start to tense up weirdly again.
Oh, and I won NaNo this year. Go me :D