Spent a chunk of yesterday unhooking my compter, pulling it off, and out of, my desk, moving the desk down about a foot and a half, and then putting everything back on and hooking it back up. All so that I could actually sit at my desk without risking damage to my lovely new bed. It sucked, and I really really hate Poofu a lot now.

As opposed to the vague, low-level disgust I used to have because he was just old and slower than molasses in January.

There’s some vague mutterings of an HP slimline for Christmas, which fills me with both sad longing and a hot, guilty nausea.

So, basically, my normal reaction to getting gifts.