My legs are mush after yesterday's marathon workout. Okay, so what I call a 'marathon', others may call a 'wimp-a-thon', but I carry my badge proudly. Nevertheless: leggies go ouch. Ragnar rigid.

I slept a grand total of five hours last night, but I'm surprisingly frisky today. The ton of bricks will probably drop on my head some time around eight tonight, at which point I'm hopefully curled up on the couch with a good book.

Speaking of good books (hopefully), I bought Terry Pratchett's latest opus on Tuesday, The Wee Free Men, in addition to Tad Williams' (also brand spanking) The War of the Flowers.

Discworld novels I buy just 'cause (I have them all, each and every one), regardless of reviews - which are almost always positive - but Flowers was something of a calculated gamble. I've read, and enjoyed, a lot of Mr. Williams' work thus far, but like most authors he has his definite ups and downs. I'm looking forward to finding out which it is this time around ('up' or 'down', I mean). I have absolutely no idea what the book is about, and that's always a plus. There are too many spoilers in my life as it is. Nothing is ever a surprise anymore.

Been sorting through insurances today, at great pain to me and the people around me. There are so many of them (insurances, not people), in so many different places, and attempting to combine them all in one place is proving extremely difficult - the mathematics of it approach a quantum level. I fear that, should I succeed to find the best combination of cost and service, the universe will collapse on itself.

To top it all off, I'm grappling with big story issues today, and although it looks as though it'll be resolved by the end of the week, it's still very much akin to climbing Mount Everest. With no safety. In my underwear. We'll rise to the challenge, however, and conquer the mountain - I'm sure of that. If anyone tries to tell you that storytelling is easy, however, slap 'em for me. Please.  ¶ 16:23