I'm actually writing this on Monday night. It's near 9 and I'm ready for bed. Long day. Came home, emptied dishwasher and made a kick ass dinner. Rather enjoyed it actually. But it wears on me. Don't get out of the kitchen til about 7:30 and then what? An hour and a half til bedtime?
Supposed to be writing stuff. Cleaning. Cleaning that chicken carcass to make chicken burritos for lunch. I was saved there. Enough breast meat left over so I can just take it with some left over asparagus for lunch. Good stuff.
Have to get a blood test tomorrow, so time will be very limited. And I've suddenly become melancholy.
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