Ahhh...the joys of employment. Count Monday morning among them. (Not.)

Still. Looks like it's going to be a lovely, sunny day, and that counts for something. Nice to see the sunshine again.

Not that I'm complaining about our recent spell of cool weather. Given a choice between temperatures over 100 and temperatures in the 60s, I'll take the 60s every time.

This morning's scamper over to Starbucks netted me one of my favorite sights. There's a man (yes, a brown-eyed, handsome man) I see over there pretty much every time I walk in their door at or almost precisely at 9:00. I always notice him. And I notice him noticing me back, which is nice. On a day like today when I just threw something on and dashed into the office, I always regret not having taken more time with my appearance. (OTOH, he's certainly not seeing me only at my best. And he's still noticing....)

And, of course, Buehler's out of town for this whole week, which means I'm at leisure to arrange my schedule my won way.

So, this morning I came in determined, determined not to just laze another day away. I opened up one of my story files and got right to work. Before I knew where I was, I'd written 1,500 words.

Contemplated them. Deleted 1,300. Contemplated what I had left. Deleted 600 from the previous text. Contemplated the remaining 1,000 words. 600 of them may have to go.

Or, not. I could find a way to make it happen. (I always hope that. In vain 90% of the time, but whatever.)

When I get to the point where I'm deleting two word for every word I write, I know it's time to give it a rest.

I have to say, I know I've only been on it for the past three weeks, but the HRT doesn't seem to be doing much for my mood swings. I was in a good mood when I arrived this morning. I was writing and sort of enjoying myself. Now I'm all bitter and stuff. I'm not sure why I'm risking half a dozen dread diseases and side-effects, if the stupid meds aren't going to work any better than this. I'm not one of those women who ever suffered badly from PMS. I've never really developed coping mechanisms to deal with random bouts of homicidal mania.

My roommate has taken to hiding in the other room 90% of the time. Not that I blame her.

I'm starting to wonder if it might not be a good idea to accept Coco's job offer. Maybe I'd be better off if I were alone four days out of five, you know?

When I am rich, I'm going to hire someone to fish the seeds out of my watermelon for me.