I have letters to write, cheques to sign, and belated birthday cards to get in the post. Oh, woe. I am a bad auntie.
The thing is, at the end of a long day of writing, the last thing I want to do is write more.
Yes, I notice I am blogging. But blogging is just sign-language, really. It's what I do instead of talking. I was a real chatterbox before the invention of blogs.
Meanwhile this morning I checked the news, went to the gym, went to Italian class, fried up brunch, and rushed to my desk to get going.
One thing about being underemployed--back when I was underemployed--I always had time to get to the post office.