The kitchen is empty.
We are ready for floors.
Pretend I wrote all of the words to explain.
My brain is cement.
There is no way to fix it.
Here is a video.
My finest work.
I took a trip to the emergency vet with my elderly porch cat— she was left behind when her family moved… because animals are disposable.
So the humans tell me.
Every 5 ft.
Eat mor chickn.
She is going to be fine— she got stitches and is recuperating inside with us… but on top of moving all the stupidly-ginormous furniture some lunatic has filled this house with, and kitchening in the basement like subterranean hobbits… the vet was LITERALLY THE LAST THING.
I wanted to go into my bubble for fifteen centuries, but instead, I had to go to the beach and be goals because the human I married is an exacting taskmaster of summer.
Of course, his house is also an elder-cat-care facility… so, no one is living their best life here.
Fortunately, everything I do is tremendous.
I have the best beach look.
Everyone is saying.
Now this post is over.
They cannot all be War and Peace.
Probably some days Rembrandt just painted an emoji and was like, lol.