At 12, Gentle Reader, I have a zoom meeting and not much else today. I might take today “off,” and by “off,” I mean, change the sheets on the bed, fold laundry, clean something, and read Charlotte Bronte’s Shirley for the book project, which is good, but not really the page-turner of Jane Eyre. I hate to talk badly of a Bronte, but there we are. I admit it. It’s not as much fun.
I feel like this might help my stress, to do something other than work for a bit. I still can’t leave the house, not until Sunday, and even then, I’m following orders to stay home unless strictly necessary. Monday, we have the vet. Tuesday, I give blood. Those are all of my plans.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 