I hate it when someone asks me if I’m “really sure.” I’m never really sure. Kind of, sort of, maybe, perhaps are all integral words in my vocabulary. That person is annoying in other ways, too, but it’s the “really sure” thing that bothers me the most.
I broke a spoon yesterday just by washing it. The scoopy part snapped right off as I was scrubbing. I was only trying to clean the house, but the whole plan fell to pieces.
Ginger is one of the most underrated roots.
I had an unfortunate dinner tonight. It was so bad; it left me completely unsatisfied. So I was full but felt like I still wanted something. I wished I could just throw up and start over again.