The stupid car wouldn't start when I tried to leave here yesterday and now I owe Extension 17 two favors.

But, in spite of the massive lack of sympathy demonstrated by so-called "friends" in the comments section*, today, my car is running reliably again. As long as I needed to take it in, I went ahead and had my pre-winter tune-up and some other bits and pieces done. Total bill right around $200.

(*It's all very well to say, "take it to Sears" and I suppose that in theory there are Sears stores in Denver, but I don't know where any of them are. Those of you who are homeowners overestimate the interest of those of us who are not in "home stores," okay? I can't imagine any reason on earth I'd have gone into a Sears store in the last fifteen years.)

I have to take the fool car back some day soon. One of the little lights behind the dashboard seems to have burned out. I can only see about half the little dial that tells you how fast you're going and yes, I know there's a name for it but the word escapes me at the moment, so just don't start with me, okay?

Anyhow. Turns out yesterday was a good afternoon to be out of the office. Buehler continued to be appallingly needy yesterday and really I had enough of my own work piled up in front of me to take care of the few hours I could spare for the office without him twitching around about whether or not anyone had checked to see if the mail was in yet or if someone else had called in to report progress on a meeting they'd had that morning.

The SEN: I'm here today to report a complete and entire lack of progress. I haven't touched it all week and I don't, at the moment, have any desire to touch it.

I may not write again until I take myself back off the stupid diet. Being calorie-starved and obsessing over the various times I've sneaked a bite of chocolate or eaten an extra cracker doesn't seem to be compatible with writing.

I'm very fragile, as a writer, aren't I? Things have to be just so or I can't produce at all any more.

It's a little silly when I remember how I used to write endless, smutty stories with half my brain while dealing with several million dollars worth of accounts with the other half. Nowadays, if someone looks at me funny while I'm driving home in the evening, it throws me off my game for two days.

Brooding. Oh. I just remembered...what with one thing and another, I've forgotten to get the refill for my thyroid medication, so I've pretty much been off it for the past week.

Now I recognize this shaky, twitchy, scatterbrained easily panicked feeling. This is what I felt like all the time before I got on the med and got my whateveritisthyroiddoes stabilized.

Maybe this evening would be a good time to pop by the old pharmacy and get that refill. (Ed. You think?)