It’s all about the lack with no lustre today.

Two days ago, I looked like a cockatoo. Go ahead and Google an image. I’ll wait.

Yes, my hair was doing exactly that.

That is not a lie fiction.

Mr. G, honey confirmed it.

The man-virus carrier is on the mend. That means someone can make a grocery or drugstore run, and we can probably take the Zombie Zone — Enter At Your Own Risk sign off the front door. However, it’s a surprisingly effective solicitation deterrent, so I’m thinking maybe not.

Dear Fisherman’s Friend: If you have a Consumer of the Year award, I would qualify. Totally.

The G-Pup really wants a Fisherman’s Friend, but that’s just the secondhand fumes talkin’.

I am nothing but bruised ribs and seal bark. Oh, and the cockatoo hair. Let’s not forget that.

Appointments — canceled.

Tai Chi — maybe next week or in the afterlife, whichever comes first.

Fitbit — Where is the Find My Fitbit function? Mine either ran off to join the circus where people actually move about, and it has a purpose in life, or it’s riding some yoga gear at the bottom of the laundry hamper. The circus is the more likely scenario. Fitbits have feelings, too.

Still.

I’m thinking some happy thoughts because — Hello! — seed packets. Organic, heirloom, and heritage seeds from Edible Antiques and Cubit’s Organics.

I can’t wait to play.

I love the packaging for both of these products.

I don’t have much experience growing from seed, so gardening is going to be an adventure this year.

I wouldn’t say I’m a first-time seeder, but less than a hobbyist, more than a novice.

Meanwhile, thinking loudly of you, Atlantic Canada! You’re taking a drumming.

Thursday is just a few baby steps away from Friday.

Elen

Note: My intertoobs must be taking in the secondhand fumes, too. I’m having trouble connecting to the Edible Antiques site, so I’ve linked you to Stacey’s Twitter.

Note 2: There has been no reading of posts in my Reader this week. I apologize.