A day for small things, I think. Up late last night finishing off the next round of editing for Me & Death, consequently up late this morning, with that feeling of unreality that overcomes me when I wake up after everyone else has gone to work. In the kitchen I spent almost a minute separating two coffee filters that didn't want to be separated. Separating coffee filters is a pretty sad way to use time, since they cost about a third of a cent each, which means (hang on while I work it out) that I value my time at about twenty cents and hour, or 64.00 a week on a 40-hour week. (Very sadly, there have been books that paid me less.)
This morning's labour was , it turned out, a total waste of time since one filter proved to be malformed, a sad anencephalic product with most of the top missing. I threw it out. While the coffee brewed, I tidied empty liquor bottles into the cupboard where I keep empty bottles (no, they were not all from last night. I do my editing sober) and, noticing that the cupboard was getting full, I found an empty box and filled it with the dead soldiers. I'll take it to the liquor store for a refund later today, or maybe tomorrow. Meanwhile, having no better place to store it, I put it back in the empty-bottle cupboard.
Coffee in hand, I went upstairs and found an email from my editor. We were supposed to discuss the revised Me & Death today, but she has an appointment. Could we could do it tomorrow instead, she asked. Sure, I replied.
So I'm trying to think what to do. I might get my hair cut. I'll certainly take the bottles back. And I'm about ready for some more coffee filters. It's that kind of day.