Decision the first: yesterday morning I allowed the roadside repair people to talk me into a patrolman instead of a tow. This meant the patrolman could start the car (as, of course, I knew he'd be able to; it's only a battery or starter motor problem). Which meant I got to drive the car to the mechanics instead of having it towed. Which meant, of course, that I was sans transportation home. Which led to…
Decision the second: since the next bus was a good half-hour away and would take 45 minutes to get me home anyway, and since I'm too cheap to spring for a taxi when the weather was so nice, I thought I'd walk. It's only 7km, after all — what's 7km between friends? Well, quite a lot, it turns out, if it's between unfit friends. Particularly if all but the first and last of those kilometres happen to be steeply uphill.
The outcome, naturally, is a newly-rubbed hole in each heel and each little toe.
The good news is the car's problem is only a bung starter motor, nothing more expensive at this point. The even better news is I spent yesterday afternoon working on a new commercial project, which should pay for the repairs. So I won't come out ahead, all up, but I should hopefully break even. That's something.
Today has been so hectic and long [insert generic whine] that all I can think of is food. Pizza and soft drink and chocolate, that's what I want. I'm going to settle for some leftover apple pie (which, really, I don't think of as settling, and which I'm allowed to eat because lunch was vegetable soup). And I'm going to dive into notecarding the novel what ambushed me with one chapter and then clammed up quiet, because that "counts" as writing but doesn't have a word target attached to it.