Things I did this week.
1) Went to the post office to mail off stuff I've traded away on Title Trader
2) Found the bank and made deposits, twice! Went in the "out" lane once.
3) Found the compound pharmacy that makes the special meds for the special cats.
4) Found where to pay the power/water/garbage bill and paid it.
5) Reveled in a power/water/garbage bill that was less than $150
6) Went to the library and checked out four books.
7) Read one of the books (!) and started reading another
That last one might seem pretty minor, but I've been complaining for weeks now how I haven't been able to concentrate long enough to read a book. Once upon a time I read avidly, finishing at least 2 to 3 books a week (sometimes more, since once I had no life and no interwebinets). I churned through probably a hundred books a year or more. For the past 10 years, I've been lucky to read 30 books in a year. It bothered me. It bothers me now. I've read five books this year. That's just sad, but I have about a dozen books parked with bookmarks in them. I've not been able to finish one.
Today I did. I went to the little front porch we screened in, turned on the fan, got a drink, and sat in the flimsy camp chair I put there and read. It was perfectly lovely. Somehow, I had lost the skill of just sitting and reading. When I finished, I did a few chores. I didn't wander aimlessly around blogs, I didn't play endless games of Spider Solitaire. I read a book (a biography, actually, on Humphrey Bogart, the second I've read). The other books I picked up are the latest in the Dresden files (which is on 2 week loan so I have to read it soon), a biography on Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Robert Ludlum's The Bourne Identity.
I'm about 50 pages into the Ludlum book. We'll see how this goes.