Despite the continuing Cold From Hell, I moved Himself's office clag out of the study and the guest room, where it had been moved so Patrick the Painter could work his magic, and back where it belongs. This activity did not require any task more demanding than toddling gently up and down the corridor with armloads of books about murder, rape, robbery, fraud, and what to do when your client has been accused of some of all of the above.

I will not deal with the curtain rod today; that can wait until next week.

Much against my will, I have concluded that we cannot re-use the pleasantly bland unbleached cotton curtains that we brought from Ottawa; they are just about four inches too short to cover the patio doors while hanging high enough so the rod finial will not break the glass in the door of the china cabinet. Fuck. It.

I have to go to Kitchener next Thursday for my monthly needle at the allergy doc's office. While I'm at it, I'll hit the big-box mall for a pair of 96-inch panels as much as possible like the ones I recently bought for the sitting room. I can hardly wait to find out that they're about one inch too long ...