it's still today

According to the date I seem to have missed yesterday but I haven't, not yet.  It's the middle of the night, halfway between yesterday and tomorrow, but I suppose I'll have to write two for today's date. So - yesterday was busy.  I finally did my planting and my fingernails are ringed with mud because I didn't wear garden gloves, sort of on purpose.  I remember Scarlett O'Hara ("Scarlett O'Hara, yo' hands is like a field hand's."  "I am a field hand.") That doesn't happen often.  I have a writer's hands, and feet.  I also have a writer's spread (like a secretary's, sorry - personal assistant's - only broader.  I'm not good at gardening but I'm better than I was.  I used to have a withering thumb.  Given water, sunshine and fertilizer, the plants I touch begrudgingly forgive me.  What else did I do?  I re-read a lot of material pertaining to a play of mine that I have to fine-fine-tune very carefully. I'm trying to stuff enough key words into my head to let them simmer and come up with something I can use.  I have to leave it now.  I am preparing to go away for a week to finish a book.  I hope the plants survive without me....