Feeling somewhat quiet.

Not-hungry, not-tired, vaguely disconnected from everything. I feel like a tooth pulled just an eighth of an inch out of its socket.

My desk is clean. Stripped bare. Had to do it to have a place to put my new WACOM tablet. It's lovely--pale silver and grey, actually sized to my screen, we finished dinner and then picked it up and then I lost two hours and change just... playing. I keep using too-pale colours, not giving shadows enough depth, I know this. Going to be so much fun getting better. :)

Read for a bit, dozed off for part of it, and now I'm just in this not-quite-here state, feeling wan and watching minutes drip through the clock.

I know a good night's sleep will help. And the ?assessor? ?estimator? from the moving company is coming by in nine hours. But... not-tired.

Practicalities.

Apparently we have a lot of books.

As in, enough that the mover who came over to give us an estimate heard that we'd be packing our own, and suggested that we pick up fifty 2-cubic-foot boxes.

Apparently this is unusual, a fact which I keep forgetting.

He appreciated that I thought to ask whether the movers preferred 2-foot^3 or 1.5-foot^3 boxes, though.