I took a week off on purpose last week. Details to follow in an entry that's already percolating.

There are a few unresolved unemployment-related issues that are making me edgier than I would have admitted until this morning. The lack of resolution is making me edgy, I mean.

Still not quite used to how the running regimen can often make me dead tired very early, so that I'm on the sofa or in bed (or shoveling in food at the kitchen table, so don't start with me) during the time I'd like to be spending writing. Still do not fully trust the slaptop not to conk out.

Yesterday I learned the valuable lesson that some temp jobs are so demoralizing that the better option would be not accepting them, instead staying home and scouring the classifieds and applying for jobs online, whatever, that the paltry per-hour does not nearly compensate for the hit to my dignity. I'm trying to be matter-of-fact and philosophical about the situation, but truly I'm dying a little for as long as my sentence is in effect, and I'm in no condition for anything that smells even vaguely of introspection. (Vanessa: I am a sub-Eileen.) And I'm not going to want to write about this, if I am, until I'm sprung around midday Wednesday.