It's Cold. Really cold. And I'm annoyed.

I'm cold. I'm typing with gloves on. In about ten minutes, I'm going to go back to the bedroom and hide under the blankets until spring or my book is done, whichever comes first (it better be the book, since it's due in 18 days.)

I'm also thinking that I could eat. I could bake six million cookies and eat them all. Then I'd be warm AND fat.

The book is going well, thanks for asking. I'm struggling a bit with the actually sitting down and writing it part, but then, I always do. I wrote a sc...