The firewood chore is done: logs stacked snugly, bark and chips raked up, wheelbarrow tucked away in its new woodshed berth. It's a good thing I decided to work steadily because an unforecast rainstorm floated through mid-afternoon, just after I'd finished cleaning up, and that would have made handling logs much more unpleasant. There's nothing like wet work gloves to wreck a stacking party . . . though snowy wet work gloves take the prize for the worst firewood-stacking accessory. Ugh.

Anyway, job over, and now I'll go back to my desk and figure out next week's teaching plan. I've got to have everything in hand before leaving on Friday, and I ought to start organizing myself for NYC as well since I'll be leaving for the city almost as soon as I get home from Monson.

What a ridiculous schedule. I'm so glad not to be a rock star.

Today, however, I'm still in household mode. I've got to get the car to the shop. I've got to work on class plans. I've got to do laundry. Otherwise, my time is my own. Yesterday I received a poem acceptance, which was nice, and reminded me that's it's not entirely terrible to submit work. So I could do more of that today. I could also do some Christmas shopping but I bet I won't.

Writing writing writing. The faucet has been just a drip lately. I wonder when the explosion will happen.