But I don’t like pickles.

Greetings and salutations, bitches. We’ve got ourselves another Monday. I’m enjoying a coffee, and Chaucer is pacing around the living room. Mom has a load of clothes in the wash. The sun is out and we’re supposed to have slightly warmer temps today. We might even be back up around normal temperatures towards the end of the week.

I’ll believe it when I see it.

We went to the Compound yesterday. We were there for the afternoon game. I only heard them drop one n-bomb: during the national anthem, naturally. Mom had made lasagna and garlic bread. Brian’s mother wouldn’t use our garlic bread, insisting on burning her own instead.

I’m still not sleeping right. I’ve been taking the melatonin. However, I’m also stubborn and usually don’t want to stop watching whatever I have on and GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP. Last night it was closed ecosystems in jars. I really, really want to buy a huge jar of pickles – a Costco-sized pickle jar – and I want to throw out the pickles, walk down to the bayou and fill the jar with water and plants and see what happens.

Today, I need to go out. I didn’t actually buy any of the things I needed to buy when we went out on Saturday, except for the bubble wrap. Since I bought that, I can pack and mail out what needs to go out. I’m not sure if Mom will come with me or not. I don’t expect that I’d be out for very long, unless I get it in my head to apply for a job at the smoke shop while I’m out there.

Mom says it’s actually very nice out, and my Wu-Tang hoody might be too much. We’ll see.