Have I complained yet that the cold medicine has to be taken on a full stomach, and must be taken every three hours? Normally the edict to eat every three hours is about the best news I’ve heard all day. But being sick-ish kills my appetite. So the one time I can eat so frequently and insist it’s totally necessary is the one time I don’t want to do it. Unfair. I don’t actually have much in the way of food guilt, but I still hate to waste this.

Damon, on the other hand, has gone into another one of his exercise bonanzas. He’s doing really well with this one and tonight when he took off his shirt I was startled that I hadn’t quite noticed how far along he’d gotten. He’s quite studly.

It seemed like I had something else to say when I started this post, but now I can’t remember it.


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