I spent yesterday morning working on a friend's manuscript, the afternoon throwing firewood down the cellar hole, and I made good progress with both: not quite finished, but getting there. I thought I'd be stacking that wood in the basement today, but Tom did it last night after work, so now we have a beautiful winter-ready pile that I keep running downstairs to admire. I do love to look at a stack of warmth.
New wood is arriving on Thursday morning, and my plan was to clear the seasoned wood out of the way before it came, but Tom wants to move some stuff around the basement to make room for the next stack, so today I guess I'll vacuum instead of tossing firewood--a much less satisfying task. We're supposed to get some rain today, and the air does feel humid and unsettled. Maybe not a good day for hauling firewood in any case.
So, this morning: take my exercise class, write, work on the manuscript job, read the Iliad. In the afternoon: clean floors, fold laundry, read the Iliad, freeze peppers, take a walk, write some more, turn on the baseball game. In the evening: become frustrated by the baseball game, play cribbage, read Thackeray, make chicken and biscuits. Not a scintillating schedule, I suppose. But it keeps me occupied, and one of these days the paying work will show up again.