Somewhere in the middle of all that, The Person Who Steers the Ship (so to speak) offhandedly insulted me and what I do. Twice. I usually (pretty much) take it in stride when what I do is basically ignored by 95% of the people around me. Today...was not the day. I do not expect anyone to kiss my ass; I do expect that one person can appreciate the importance of what I do. That is, apparently, too much to ask.
I stomped and muttered about that for a while, finished what desperately needed to be one today, and left--another half-hour late, again. Came home to my cold, dark apartment (OK, so it's cold and fookin' bright, but you get the metaphorical picture). Read for a while. Took a shower. Ate dinner, the contents of which I'm struggling to recall, so it must've been something unremarkable. Washed the dishes and tidied the livingroom. And now I'm mostly sitting in my quiet office, my feet propped on the windowsill, watching the world go by, drinking lemon tea and trying to envision doing what needs to be done to change all of this. How hard could it be?
[title quotation by William Cullen Bryant, from The Fountain, and Other Poems]