The gym was filled (or so it seemed) with humorless, square-jawed, blocky folks. Groany McSlamweights was there (I am not sure why some folks have to sound like their making love when they lift weights), and at one point one of the attendants told him to tone it down.
Writing: I spent a lot of time editing; on the plus side, I have a rough first-draft of an opening chapter. I managed about 800 new words. I'm reminding myself that forward progress is progress... and right now I am more likely to reach my 90,000 word count by May 1 if I just write without using the backspace key. I'm thankful for Scrivener, which allows me to break up my writing into scenes, vignettes, character sketches, and parts where I'm arguing with myself into separate, organizable sub-documents. On days when I don't feel creative, I can always dive into the waiting drafts. I think the pit-fall I have to be aware of is getting distracted with characters' back-stories... on one hand, it's useful to have some key scenes, but on the other, I'm wanting to start the story when the main characters are in their twenties, not their teens or childhoods.
On the weather front, we woke up Sunday to a light frosting of snow, which melted, and then returned and then melted and returned again. The Child was ecstatic at the prospect of a possible snow day (there's no school on Monday in any case) and of extorting the neighbors for money for shoveling drives. When the snow fell, it came down in cakes of think flakes. Later in the day, rain drizzled down, as if it came from a greenhouse mister, in a more typical Oregon February fashion.
Mark and I (OK, mostly Mark) cleaned out the garage, so we were able to actually get the car into it. This enabled me to drive to work without having to scrape ice and snow off of the car. The forecast warned about black ice on the roads, but the streets were mostly dry.