The battery on my laptop is about to die.

Apparently, I have twenty-nine ...

... no, twenty-eight ...

... crap, back to twenty-nine minutes to write this ...

... thirty? What in the hell has changed in the last thirty seconds ...

...thirty-one? My Mac is mocking me. Seriously. How is time being added to my battery life when this computer isn't plugged into the wall?

That was seriously the most bizarre thing I've seen today. Well, except for that over-sized RC Cadillac with the dubs on it. But that's not really too weird. I had to really revisit my day, think about what all I've encountered. And according to my Mac's battery gage, I took two minutes thinking.

Now I've completely forgotten what I was going to write about. The writing muse has not been my ally these last two weeks. Perhaps she's flown south for the winter. I wouldn't blame her. After all, it's as cold as a witch's toes here.

Just for the record, a witch's toes are thirty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. If you asked me what thirty-eight Fahrenheit was in Celsius or Kelvin, I couldn't tell you to save my life.

Apparently the sixth-grade-math-skills muse is MIA as well. But she was never really around for me.

Stupid muses and their absences. They're probably hanging out in the mystical land of Mac battery life. Perhaps if I vacuumed, they'd return to my apartment.

Too bad the clean-the-apartment muse has also disappeared.