I didn't do any work on my short story yesterday.
I remembered to warm some eggs to make another batch of meringues (and then I made the meringues, and only ate some)
I enjoyed a shortbread cookie from the tin my mum gives me every year
and I shoveled some snow
and then I had a little nap while it snowed some more, so now I have to do it again.
After that, the day went very very far south, vertically, in what some might call a 'handbasket', which just goes to show that Wayson Choy was right when he told me to write as though every moment is my last because you never know when it's really going to be.
It just better not be today, because I definitely won't get any writing time. In fact now that I think of it, the whole rest of the week is a washout on that front - something I should have considered when I squandered my only free morning on cookies.
Still... if you've gotta squander time, is there any better way to do it?