I need more coffee. Or possibly pure adrenaline.

My brain just would not shut off last night. Combine that with Yeats' lingering cold making him snore somewhat, an upset stomach, and my being afraid to move because two cats were asleep on my ankles and I didn't want them to wake up in a playful mood...I got somewhere around three hours of sleep.

And I get to start the day, nay, the week, with the news that a previous client--a client both Aveline and I despise--has been assigned as her client again. Looks like he has a new girlfriend, new kids, and has been screaming abuse and death threats at them just like he did with his prior girlfriend and their children. Pro tip, guy, I am living in the Pit of Misanthropy today, and so your tearful assurances that you are "150% innocent" and would "never say things like that to my precious girls" hold absolutely no water with me. I have access to your records over the last five years, and I know what you are capable of saying. Not doing, not yet, but you sure do like to talk about it.

Ugh. Just have to slog through today. Maybe tomorrow's forecast snow showers will turn into a blizzard, and Yeats and I can have a cuddle day at home with the cats.

Reading Log: Freed by Flame and Storm by Becky Allen; The Rose Demon by Paul Doherty; Self-Inflicted Wounds by Aisha Tyler; The Genius Plague by David Walton; I Hate Fairyland: Good Girl by Skottie Young