Goal: Write 2,000 words.
Reality: Spoke at length to a medical examiner, and pretty much everything I had put in the autopsy scene was wrong. [Full diclosure: Damn Internet with your misleading ideas!] So I wrote for hours, but it was all rewriting and only added 300 words to the count.
Goal: Dress like I walked out of a J Jill catalog.
Reality: Wore sweats all day.
Goal: Clean some part of my house that has been in a time-warp for years.
Reality: Cleaned fridge. It took a long time. Oldest item with a date on it: 2005. But that was a "sell by" date. Not a "use by" date. Part of me wonders if it was wasteful to throw it away.
Goal: Break up the day by going for a long run.
Reality: Winter in Oregon means rain. Lots and lots of rain. The only way I can get a run in is to do it first thing before I chicken out. So I ended up on the exercycle in the basement reading "Short Bus." (A wonderful book for anyone who has been labeled disabled, or who knows someone who has.)