Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Yes, it's that type of day. No, it's not raining, it's just that sort of day, rendering this author syrupy at best. I've got my long sleeves on (favorite red hooded sweatshirt to be exact), irrelevant time is definitely marching forward forward forward and I'm still thirsty thirsty thirsty.
If you had not noticed, December is upon us and the game Coworker Mitch and myself are engaged in has approached boiling point. There is no time to dwell on the past. If we've botched things up, the price will be payed soon enough.
Today's Jazz Hands were slow and methodical, a tad groggy perhaps.
Day three-hundred and thirty-five complete.
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