I am in such a foul mood.

After an early a.m. doctor's appointment that ran 40 minutes longer than I expected (tell me, how can they possibly be running late already at 7:30 in the morning?), I had to swing back by my apartment on the way to work to change clothes because I remembered that I had a Business Lunch today. And it's raining. I keep meaning to buy a raincoat.

Then, instead of puttering to work through near-empty streets (I usually go in before rush hour), I had to fight my way in through a flood of morons who saw water falling from the skies and assumed it was the End Times and that traffic laws no longer applied.

I should never make early morning medical appointments. I do it under the theory they won't be running late (hah!) and that I'll be in and out faster, but the truth is that I loathe and abominate going to the doctor...any kind of doctor, and it puts me in a filthy mood for the entire day to have an appointment first thing in the day.

Also, Buehler (who gets a bad rap on this page, he's really one of the most considerate bosses I've ever had*) is on my short-list today because the bookkeeper is coming in again tomorrow, a fact Buehler casually informed me of just a few minutes ago. This means I'll be kicked off my computer for the day. I should point out, it's even less convenient than it was before because I have tele/internet conferences scheduled and the only two unoccupied computers in the building are too old and feeble to use for the purpose.

That means that after smacking Bossyboots down for the past month, I now have to go to him and beg for the use of the (company-owned) laptop that will run the necessary software. I'm sure he'll enjoy it. (One wrong word out of him and I'll just go home and do the meetings. I have a very good computer at home and it already has all the necessary software on it.)

(*That probably says more about my previous bosses than it does about Buehler.)

I can't believe torch not only writes Wodehouse slash, but now she's thinking of crossing over Bertie Wooster with Peter Wimsey.

I can't decide whether to die of apoplexy or envy.

Last night I tried my own new theory of writing for the SEN, just put words on the page and worry about the rest of it later, and it wasn't a howling success.

Possibly I shouldn't have spent two hours reading Wodehouse first. I had to throw away the first page or two.

Then, however, I buckled down and managed to scrape out three or four pages. It's not great material, but the key is that I'm getting words on the page, right? Boring words, dull scenes, and lackluster characters, but words on a page.

This never works for me...if I don't love the story enough to do it right the first time, it ain't going to happen. The odds of me having a complete personality switch and becoming the sort of person who edits with care and consideration, happily taking the time to do rewrites and polish her prose, are slim to none.

I'm going to do some work. In the back of my mind, I'll be contemplating the memory of my favorite BSOs. I can't think of anything else likely to improve my day besides a huge slab of chocolate and I'm not allowed chocolate on the diet.

Skinner in his underwear...and in that green sweater...Methos in almost anything...Spike in nothing....

I wonder why I never wrote anything for Spike? He certainly tripped my fannish switches harder than anything I've seen since XF. I hadn't thought about him in a while, but I had lunch with a friend on Saturday who mentioned him and now he keeps floating through my mind.

later....

I remembered that two of the protein supplements I brought with me today are hot chocolate-flavored. The day is already improving. Now all I have to do is figure out how to eat Mexican for lunch without destroying my diet.

Also, I have to stop thinking about Doing Things to Skinner. It's 11:00...time to get some work done.