I was going to try to do some kind of writing last night.
Apparently it was vitally important that we hang doors, instead. Apparently it was critical that we do this now, and -- and I confess I'm baffled by this -- it was equally important to do it ourselves because we're just too exhausted to get professionals in to do it right.
I don't even... You know what? I don't care. It's done. The evening is gone. The doors are hung. Whatever.
I swear, though, the way April is going? We're going to finally get the garage cleaned back out and everything back in place inside the house...
...and it will be just in fucking time for the Zombie Apocalypse to arrive, and force us to evacuate the city entirely.
With my luck, they'll show up right in the middle of Secondborn's birthday party, so we'll end up having to escape with a bunch of traumatized kindergarteners who are screaming for their parents, in a van that's low on gas, with nothing but Batman cake and Capri-suns for supplies.
You just watch. When it happens, I won't even look surprised.