Father's Day

I don't think I was particularly aware of Father's Day as a holiday until after I moved to London. I've always been ambivalent about it; it's just too close to the anniversary of my own father's death (nineteen years on Wednesday).

I need to be firm with myself today; there are too many things that need doing, and I can't afford to spend the day moping around.

Sunday afternoon

Well, so far, so not so bad. It's hideously hot out.

So far I have accomplished:

Sunday things one and two

Detangled my hair and snipped off the straggly ends.

Purged 33 no-longer-wanted books from the shelves and the database. It remains to be seen when and how I will actually get them off the premises, but it's a start. That's three or four shelf-feet, and several more months I can go without having to figure out where to put more shelves.

Collected the mail

Started the laundry.

[Edit: Sigh. My one-and-only silk shirt, my favourite summer travelling shirt, has come apart in the wash. It was, granted, nine or ten years old and very inexpensive -- I picked it up from the bargain rack at C&A in London -- but still.]