Ready or not, here we go. Geekfest number three officially drops into gear tomorrow. John flies in at just after two p.m., weather and planes and schedules and everything else permitting. He has our home number and my cell number, and hopefully I won't receive a call.

Calls from travelers generally aren't good news, so I'll hope for a silent phone tomorrow.

Not sure why I'm so quiet and tired and introspective about it all at this point. One might suppose it's my brain gearing up for what's going to be a long and tiring weekend. The house is ready for visitors—or, well, will be as soon as I tidy the kitchen tomorrow (always the chore that should wait until last). Guest bathroom's ready, as is the guest bedroom. The living room is generally tidied and picked up, despite my current thoughtline that says perhaps I should tidy the coffee table up a bit.

Half.com is officially my bane, I think. I've allowed myself a bit of a treat lately and ordered up some nice, fluffy, non-serious fiction that I've been wanting to read for quite some time. The lovely thing about used books is that I can pick up several for $20 and feel as though I've been a thoroughly scrupulous and virtuous woman indeed.

I can convince myself to go to the bookstore and pay full price for a luxury like Margaret Atwood's latest (which looks tasty and interesting) but there's something about a piece of fluff fiction that I just can't bring myself to spend full jacket price for.

I think I've timed the ordering of the books about right; they should arrive at the end, or shortly after the end, of this geekfest. They'll be a nice way for me to ease back into the quietness that is reality.

For now, though, I'm staring at my screen in a vain attempt to get a new skin for geek-chick working. My heart just doesn't seem to be in it. On the other hand, Edmund is sleeping on the top shelf of my desk. I can't say for sure, but judging by the utter relaxation and soft cat snores I'm hearing, I think it's probably a safe bet that his heart's in what he's doing.

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