I'm not being greedy, not asking for 48... Just some extra hours, PLEASE.

All I can see are the tasks I've got to accomplish today, and, due to the EVIL AND CHAOTIC forces of the cats, I have to redo at least an hour's worth.  (The elderly cat, in an attempt to get warm, leaped onto the stove top, found it warmer than she expected, and raced off of it, taking the entire hour's worth of baked and cooling cookies on the counter-top with her.  In the chaos ensuing, the kittens knocked over and denuded the tree of all its ornaments.  Oddly, I am no longer in a holiday mood.)

I know it's ridiculous, I know I set myself up for failure, but this time of year always does it to me.  Writing eats up so much of my day, and I love it, I do, but it's really ridiculously hard to fit in 6-8 hours of writing plus retail work hours where the christmas music is unceasing and appalling, plus the house chores plus holiday obligations and there are NO groceries in my house except for cookie ingredients...(not even CHEESE!) and I don't want to go out into the cold and shop when I'm supposed to be revising chapters 4-9 today before work this evening and for god's sake, at some point, I'd like to get a chance to say hey to my friends who I haven't seen/spoken to in over a week!

Yes, I'm aware I'm whining.  Yes, there are a gazillion worse troubles to have than an overscheduled day and a ruined batch of cookies.  I am trying to be mindful of that.  But my inner twelve-year-old is not having any of that at the moment.  Maybe later she will calm the hell down and stop throwing a tantrum. 

Really, I just want a warm beach, some sunlight, some fresh-caught, deep fried shrimp, a lemonade, and maybe a valium or two. 

I did read Tanith Lee's Louisa the Poisoner at breakfast this morning.  Short and not at all sweet; it's been the best part of my day so far.