I consider any time that's before 10 a.m. unnaceptable for human contact and vertical ambulation. Thus I'm rather proud of myself that I'm posting now.

Having not had sufficient time to comb the news sites and my email yet, I have little to say in terms of mental health. So instead I'll just share a personal revelation I had on my way to work: I make a habit of realizing things after it's too late to do anything about them.

To wit: Yesterday I was almost at the trolley stop before I realized I'd forgotten to shave my legs—and I was wearing a skirt. It was way too late to go back home, but the stubble was pretty unsightly. Nothing I could do about it except hope people didn't notice. I tried to recall my college/grad school days, when I didn't shave at all. I had thick fur under my arms back then, and I wore sleeveless tops all the time. But those were different times—the ’60s. Er, the ’70s. Okay, well, the late ’80s and early ’90s. Ugh.

Today I realized—again, after I'd left the house—that my white T-shirt is far more see-through in natural light than in the sepulchral dim of my bedroom. Looks like I'll be keeping my sweatshirt on all day.

Such are the discoveries, tragic and hobbling to the self-esteem, that mark my day. What joy.