How muddy the dog is, because it's been raining. Sir Calzador of the Muddy Paws is not welcome in the bed. He doesn't understand, his paws feel the way they always do. Yet he is banished from the big warm bed with the human. It's cruel. How I got really excited tonight and bit my finger. What? It happens. I was eating a dried apricot that looked alarmingly like a wizened ear from a miniature orange person when I got an email and lost all sense of time, place, and where my fingers were. Chomp.

Boom she clack clack. Boom she clack clack.

A big thing is launching tomorrow. The press is already starting to come in, and part of me wants to stay up and see what happens, but the rest of me knows that I've been working for over twelve hours already and my frantically clicking media fingers need to be fresh - if slightly bitten - tomorrow morning.

Why on god's green earth would I choose to do a three-day juice cleanse on the week a big thing was launching and I will also - apparently - be rife with delightful coursing female hormones.

Since I did decide to do my first juice cleanse, why on earth would I choose the one that promises to "unearth the crayons you ate when you were seven" instead of, you know, the friendly one. The easy one. The one that isn't all perfectionist and Type A about juice. Not to mention DIGGING TWENTY-SIX-YEAR-OLD COLORED WAX FROM THE DEEP, DARK DEPTHS OF MY INSIDES.

Boom she clack clack. Boom she clack clack.

My finger is still throbbing.

This week will be fun. I like being busy. I like making things. I like writing things and writing things fast. I like pushing my body to weird limits, even if those weird limits come with a liquid cookie every night. I like that it's raining. I like that I'm totally going to cave and let the dog sleep with me, muddy paws and freshly washed duvet notwithstanding. I like that there are so many options, spread out before me like a buffet of everything I ever wanted. I just have to choose.