That’s just the fumes talkin’…

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.