My husband left for his out-of-town job at 7am this morning, and he took my box of spring lettuce.
It's left over from last week, but it's still crisp, so I didn't buy any fresh lettuce. You know, like we did for him Sunday night at the grocery story.
And I'm not sure, but I feel like the thermostat is set at 62 F, Again. I've been freezing my butt off for about 12 hours. I forgot to check it last time I was in the kitchen. Before that, I was sleeping about 16 hours, not including waking up at 2pm to make some business calls and return some emails.
No depression here. Nope. No depression. Uh-huh.
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