–Washington Post stuff, done.
–Dishes, done.
–Four metric tons of garbage hauled out from the kitchen, done.
–Oh, shoot! Cool afghans, done! And both their recipients were thrilled. S, that makes me very happy.
–Now I’m working on a goth baby blanket.
–And I have to prep for a talk I’m giving on March 3.
–And sleep for a million years.
We were out of cereal and bread and eggs and anything a reasonable person could eat for breakfast, so I had stale pink lemonade PopTarts. I now feel kind of like death. I’m full, but I’m contemplating if there’s a place I could stop for something not made of nuclear waste for breakfast or else when I see nm at lunch, I’m afraid I’m going to literally be a jittery sugar-crashing mess.
Tiny Cat Pants 