It's snowing outside. Fast, heavy, swirling flakes. I'm sitting at home instead of work, trying to stop bleeding.

I had a wisdom tooth brutally ripped out yesterday, and my mouth bled all evening. This morning, it's just a trickly, as long as I don't move too much. I've realised the taste of blood is pretty disgusting.

Steph is out in the snowstorm, taking Nika for a walk. To tell the truth, it's not much of a snowstorm, but it looks fun. The newspapers were getting excited for days about an "artic storm" heading this way, but it's distinctly non-artic. I mean, it's cold, but not much below freezing, and there is snow. But it's not an artic storm. Maybe tonight.

I'm currently on chapter 8 of my novel, just over 12,000 words. I've got about half a page left to type in, and I know what to write for the rest of the chapter. If I can stop bleeding long enough, I may write it today.

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I seem to have reached some perfect zen point of stillness in my story submissions: I send them out, but no editor ever responds. Even magazines with fast return times seem to freeze up when I send them a story. Maybe that's my mutant superpower.

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We watched "Fight Club" last night. It started off well, I thought, but descended to silliness by the end. Ah well.

There's one point where Tyler Durden says you can swallow a pint of blood before you're sick. I tried to calculate if I'd swallowed a pint of blood yet. I guess not.