Jer and I ate a tasty meal last night at a friends' Mocksgiving celebration. Good times. I stuffed some cremini mushrooms, roasted garlic, and wrapped a round of brie in puffed pastry.

In related news: I don't think I like washing mushrooms.

The dishwasher is making mewling noises, as if there's a sack of kittens inside on spin.

There's not.

The city is obscured by clouds. No scuba divers out today. My feet are so icy my toes are blue. But the socks are far away. I might be missing a deeper purpose. Or I might not. Maybe once you scratch away the eggshell, it's just a bunch of meaningless goo and ascribing meaning to goo qualifies as insanity. Straitjackets are uncomfortable i bet. Record flooding outside. I am not setting any records myself.