I foolishly hoped that after working my heart out for a week (with another to do before she's fit enough) my alleged daughter might actually be grateful that I've missed a week's work and a week's wages, almost worked myself to death and parted company with three knuckles into the bargain - but no.
Sitting, nay lying in front of the TV tonight with barely enough energy to breath, I was enjoying the new episode of NCIS that I missed on Friday night because I was too tired to hold up my eyelids. Just as it began, in breezed El Bratto and snatching the remote (my territory, and sole right) turned over to some awful program called The Walking Dead, which describes me perfectly. Is nothing sacred? I know it's the very next day after first being shown in the US but who cares? She could watch that any night. But to interrupt NCIS - has the girl absolutely no shame?
On the bright side, since it was raining and the pony has some unpronounceable disease which precludes him from getting wet, and the horse is unable to do whatever it is that horses do in fields on his own, we got home early, which left me to do some writing.
The typing required about three times longer than usual since my fingers are about three times thicker than they were last week and can barely move enough to find the keys without spelling everything wrong, just like they did when I first learned to type approximately forty years ago. No matter, I did get eight pages done and if I finish with the furry money-drains before midnight tomorrow I might even be able to repair all the gibberish I typed tonight, provided she hasn't boosted my computer for something important like a mounting block to climb on the nags.