Six Things. To Be Exact.

Being sick is a gosh, darn shame. They stuff you so full of immunizations that you think it would take something equal to the plague to infect you. But then they throw you in a miniature cubicle with a sickly and no wonder. Yep. No wonder. By the way, I'm immune to NyQuil. Which is another gosh, darn shame.

I found Downton Abbey season three online! Waiting for the Sir to get home from his run so we can watch episode one. Season Three! And no, I didn't go for a run. Currently, breathing while sitting is enough of a task.

Speaking of, Mike is grocery shopping during his run. That man took a backpack and is picking up a few things. If I didn't marry the greatest man in the world, then that man doesn't exist.

Fighting through the depression of once again being employed is quite the task. All household chores have fallen to the wayside. Wait...I did clean the toilet yesterday. Point for me. My laziness seems to have gotten the best of me. Pathetic. However, I have yet to run out of clean underwear. Thanks to my always energetic husband. Let's just say he's making up for the chores he missed while he was in school. And then my groove will come back and all will be well again.

Hummus is awesome. Long live The Beatles. Peace.