Yesterday was a beautiful sunny spring (though technically it's still winter) day. The kind that fills you with righteous spring cleaning fever (because apparently what happens when you have flu for a week and then spend the next week with no energy at night once you've made it through work is that your house turns into some sort of toxic waste dump crossed with landfill).
But the cleaning did not happen, because other too sad things did (i will miss you little gorgeous, fluffy, wriggling, couch-sitting, barking up a storm pupster).
And now today, it's all grey and gloomy. Which is not good cleaning weather (don't ask me why). It will be, however, begood, eat a lot of yum cha for Freya's birthday weather.
But first I have to write. And hopefully it will be something fun to chase away the weird dreams about demons I was having all night (which included such gems as someone being hit by a truck and being in pieces - but still talking which should've been a big 'she's a demon' clue - and then while we watched growing black stringy things that connected all the bits back up and climbing up and trying to catch us all once she was back to full demon strength. Ick. And others who the wizards (my dreams are nothing if not adventure packed and strange - Jack Sparrow was one of the wizards) had contained kept pulling lame tricks to try and get us to set them free and then when thwarted would scream and spit fire and stuff. Gross. If the demons in the book I'm thinking about are like that then I'm not sure I want to meet them.