In exactly 11 minutes it's the weekend. Again. (!!)
At what point did this week rush by? Because last time I checked, it was Monday, and I was already ready to call it a day, quit my job and live off the fat of the land. This whole career idea, boy, whose idea was this? Blech.
Anyway, enough of that. It's the weekend!
My weekend is shaping up to look much like last weekend (read: ... is that the sound of a clock ticking? Hello? Is anyone out there?). But... but, friends, tomorrow? The Parents are visiting. And they're bringing Grandma. And spaghetti. Mom's spaghetti. And I don't know if you know this, and I'm assuming you don't, because I don't remember seeing any of you at the dinner table when I was a wee child, Mom's spaghetti is so good it hurts my soul. My soul? It actually aches. Sort of like my ass from all the lunges I had to do at Jazzercise this week, but that's neither here nor there. And yes, Jazzercise. I can do it if I want. Shut up. What do you do? Exactly.
So, there's that. Spaghetti. And visitors. Which means I have to clean my apartment because, my mama? She raised me right. And I know my bed must be made and those fingerprints must be cleaned off the bathroom mirror. Same for those toothpaste splatters. Is that cat hair on the couch? Where do those shoes belong?
I love cleaning.
Happy weekend, all.