I haven’t enjoyed it. My procrastination is harrowing. However, I have done the following things:

I’ve broken in to Kirsty’s place to let out Elsie Tiger (cat), having accidentally locked her in last night.
I’ve spoken to guinea pigs.
I’ve eaten breakfast at Kirsty’s house – oats, nuts, an apple, cinnamon, soy milk – in the company of Elsie Tiger.
I’ve lain down on the carpet in the living room of Kirsty’s house. Elsie was also lying down and instead of getting up to walk over to me, she looked into my eyes and dragged her body over to me because it just seemed somehow important that we should remain spread out on the carpet. I should not expect more of a day than that.
I’ve had a look at the flowers on Taro’s grave. Big strong feisty zinnias. I looked at the pinkish purple one with a ring of star-like tiny yellow sunflowers and thought, “This is a flower from central casting”.
I’ve spoken to my black Labrador.
I’ve put a load of towels through the wash.
I’ve washed my hair.
I’ve chopped up rocket, basil, celery, parsley and chives out of my own garden and eaten them with tinned chickpeas and last night’s leftover veggies, for lunch.
I’ve mooched on the internet. A lot. The Twitter word of the day is “futilitarian”. Mum has finally worked out how to make a comment on Facebook. She’s moved beyond the simple “like” click to a full-blooded two-sentence comment. She began this comment with the word “Facebook”. That’s funny.
I’ve stumbled randomly around on the Internet, reading about how a boy named Abraham committed suicide with his webcam on, viewed by fellow users of the Internet including another boy from India who began making frantic calls to the police in the US with his Dad’s phone. He was not taken seriously. On YouTube I played The Hollies’ He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother and was blown out by the words, supernaturally powerful words sent out into the world in a pop song in 1970.
I’ve made a card for Mum’s 73rd birthday, which is tomorrow. I stuck a picture of a dog over a blank card with a cutesy picture of kittens.
I’ve glanced at the latest CNN notice to appear stealthily on my iPhone: the United States has decided not to jump off the Fiscal Cliff.
I’ve read some of Gary Snyder’s The Practice of the Wild. I went into a swoon over a paragraph with this sentence in it: “Without conscious device we constantly reach into the vast word-hoards in the depths of the wild unconscious.”

I’ve given in to the urge to nap. The phones (landline then mobile; mobile then landline) went off twice and I kept my eyes shut and said, “Napping”.