Monday was a total win. After clocking a solid eight hours of sleep, I practically glided through my morning shift like a man who actually has his life together.
The highlight of the week, however, was the absolute comedy of errors at the pub yesterday. Picture this: My ex walks in to find her future (third) husband sitting right next to her first husband (that’s me), who is sitting next to the son from her second husband—and then there’s our son. The sheer mathematical complexity of that seating chart was enough to make her brain short-circuit; her face was a picture of pure, unadulterated "what the fuck is happening here?"
I made it home by 5:30 PM after a therapeutic wood-chopping session. I managed to raid the shop for a feast of salmon, microwave stir-fry veg, cheesecake, blueberries, and a bottle of red, all for a tidy £14. I also grabbed a bunch of coriander—and no, that is not an Americanism, thank you very much. I’ve currently got a mountain of chopped carrots on the counter and dreams of a massive batch of soup (or is that a bunch of soup?).
Looking ahead to Friday, Charlie and I are hitting Liverpool. We’ve got a room booked, and the plan is to catch Dishonor at Guac n Roll Kitchen, featuring my Greek hardcore buddy Nik from Thessaloniki. Then, we’ve got all of Saturday to roam around the city and see what kind of trouble we can get into.
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