So, today my partner asked me to design him some new business cards. Being only too glad of a distraction (I am the ultimate procrastinator sometimes!), I immediately said I would.

Cue a world of rue and regret. The actual design took mere moments, and once I had a new card all ready to be printed, I had to set up the printer.

I had conveniently forgotten where the printer had been relegated to - the cobweb-decorated corner of my bedroom, groaning under the weight of some of the clothes I will deny owning when it comes time to pick something to wear.

After dumping those ceremoniously to the floor, hiding several cushions from my bed and articles I will have to root for later, I fished out the lonely little deskjet, dusted him (it's definitely a him, for reasons which WILL become clear later) off and then had the mother of all scavenger hunts for the usb connection. Eventually I found it, wrapped up and shoved into a cupboard I use for storing DVDs I don't have time to watch any more.

After setting it all up, I realized the ink was depleted. Curse you, cartridge. So, I scared up some ink and injected it. This was starting to take longer than I had originally thought, and while I was after some form of distraction for a while, you CAN have too much of a good thing.

Now, sporting a large black inkblot on my boob and with the sour taste of it in my mouth after inadvertently sucking some from my thumb, I set to work.

The printer would not print. Vexing! I spent about an hour figging about with it, trying to clean the heads, printing blank test page after blank test page, pulling my hair and screeching like a banshee in frustration when all I got was a big, fat, nothing. Enlisting the help of my author group, I was advised to re-install all the drivers, since the printer downright refused to run any such head-cleaning acts. How rude. Three times, I downloaded and re-installed those cursed drivers and each time the printer told me there was something wrong with my toolbox (I've never had complaints in that department before!) and directed me to a webpage where I was tossed out on my ass as if a drunkard in a hotel. Restricted Access, it told me. I didn't realize my printer was connected to the damn Pentagon!

Finally, resorting to madness, I removed the cartridge once more, wrapped my lips around it and blew until ink started to drip from the underneath. There. I'd given my cartridge a bj and cleaned its head all in one fell swoop. Or one act of fellatio, so to speak.

Now, of course, the business cards are just sitting in the corner, no doubt oozing with good intentions, but will most likely have gathered a coating of dust before they're used.

And here I am, STILL procrastinating, writing a blog when I should be writing a book! Oh, my word. Will I never learn?