Yesterday I revised 1,300(ish) words on the short story, and stalked travel agents to obtain quotes for airfares, which means the travel plans, while not yet concrete, are progressing apace. I survived a trip with the world's most passive-aggressive tram driver, who shuts the tram doors while passengers are mid-way through them and drives into cars who dare to block his way. I also went and saw The Pixies live, and consequently will never hear anything ever again. (It was worth it.) On the way home from the gig, I got chatted up by a homeless boy who told me I should never ever steal, but sneaking in to watch movies without paying was perfectly fine.
Today I had exactly two tasks that had to be done: finding a pair of tennis shoes, and washing the car. Both achieved. I also — and I consider this a superhuman effort, considering it's Sunday — washed a week's worth of dishes.
And there's still time left to get some writing done.
Ergo, the weekend is officially a success, even if I haven't done the ironing and therefore have no presentable clothes for work tomorrow.