Wish I touch typed

Because somehow I am having trouble keeping my eyes open this morning. I wasn't up on the web chat any later than normal last night, slept straight through to 7 am. Maybe it's because I'm stumped with something at work.

Once again a filk con is right around the corner and I have nothing. I will be donating a copy of Howeird's Grossest Hits to the Interfilk auction, as well as a music-centric book one of my mother's cousins wrote, along with a CD of the string quartet he was in for most of his life. Abram Loft. Fine Arts Quartet. Look 'em up.

A bit miffed at the timing of the dinner break on Saturday - kind of late, which means I'll miss some programming to duck out for a friend's (much earlier) birthday dinner across the Bay.

Back to work...