Enumeration of sporadicity

Last night was a bad night, to the point where my Wonderful Husband was asking me if I was sure I felt up to going to the last of our ballroom dance classes for this session. We went, of course, and I felt better for a while. But then reality crashed down hard again afterwards and I ended up giving up on editing or writing, and just going to bed early.

( Skip if you're not me )

My usual response to these sort of things is to immerse myself in a new book for a while, but as Christmas is coming up, all the books I want are relegated to my Christmas list and I can't read them before then. I'm honestly thinking that I should take some time to engage in the classic feel-better fix of clothing retail therapy instead, since at the moment I'm on the diet bandwagon again (inspired by racerxmachina's weight-loss goals) which means chocolate isn't an option. My good black pants died the honorable death the other day, after all, and my Reeboks are almost to the same point, and I could probably use some new underthings as well. Unfortunately, this requires actual /shopping/, which is the dark side of the force.