triskidekaphobia

It's Friday evening at a quarter to six, and where am I? Sitting in my office after a truly exhausting day of registration, playing loud Franz Ferdinand defiantly¹, and trying to juggle a timetable for 10 academics and me for triple slots over all of next week, when no-one is available for longer than two and a half hours at a time and strict parity of hours must be maintained. I am reduced to colour-coding with highlighters. (Memo to self, must accommodate my second session of root canal. This tells you everything you need to know about my life at the moment). I was rabidly insomniac last night and have no brain left, which is making this even harder than usual. Also, large men with heavy machinery are ripping up the road outside my window. I feel that I have sufficient reason to be reproachful at the Cosmic Wossnames.

On the upside, last night I installed the Evil Landlord's spanky new copy of Fable onto my computer, where it is running with a certain cheerful cuteness. If I overcome my irritation at the save functions and the inherent sexism of the underlying metaphor doesn't get my feminist goat entirely, I think it's going to be fun to play.

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¹ "You Could Have It So Much Better". Word.