I proceded to have a dream about Perter Capaldi's replacement as the ten an a halfth Doctor, who was kind of a jerk. The dream was set in a kind of cabin in the woods, which was supposed to have been cleaned by sub-letters, but wasn't exactly. I had some sort of conversation about scheduling last minute work with someone while floating down a combination of a river and Oak Creek Drive in Corvallis.
At 6:30, I managed to haul myself off of the couch, opened the front to let Smokey in, and into the kitchen to start some tea. While the water heated up, I went outside and looked at the sky. The clear sky the moon had shone in last night was gone, replaced by steel grey clouds and patches of turquois. While I'm glad for the autumnal weather, the tightness in my joints now had an explaination.
Then, working on a critique, I managed to make a silly mistake with file versions.
So I'm calling this morning's productivity a bust. CRITIQUING: 10 minutes of straightening out files.