In the words of one of my favorite TikTok people, hey there, motherfuckers. It’s Sunday, and it’s fucking pouring outside. I heard thunder just before getting out of bed, and now my cat is hiding under the bed. The outer bands of hurricane Ida are just starting to come ashore.
I cooked dinner last night. In an attempt to have something more than the regular menu rotation, I made the closest thing to processed junk food: lazy chimichangas.
“It’s like a crab Rangoon and a chicken fajita had a baby”, I told Mom.
We were forced to use the laundromat yesterday. Thankfully, we were just there to dry and fold, cutting the time there down to only about an hour. Later, Mom and I did the food shopping. Brian didn’t come with us, so things went pretty quickly. I played some Assassin’s Creed, but that’s about as exciting as it got.
My brain is absolutely convinced today is Monday. I don’t understand this at all. Between the storm, and a desire for peace, we might not get an invite for Sunday supper at the compound. I’m pretty ok with that.
