Coffee on an Empty Stomach is a Bad Idea: A Three-Paragraph Essay

I didn't make anything this weekend, except for some delicious cabbage-free borshch. And no, I did not take a picture of it. If I can't scan it these days, I don't bother. Me and the focus function are not the best of friends.

And since I shouldn't always be all me, me, me, me, me; Ptichka and a friend rocked the Hunky Bill's yesterday afternoon. The proof is sitting in the freezer. Yum!

It's time to write. I have two writing quotas for the day: the if-I-meet-it-I-am-a-rock-star quota and the if-I-meet-it-I-am-not-a-rock-star-but-I-am-still-pretty-awesome quota. Since, in real life, I'm not a rock star but I am pretty awesome, I'm aiming for the latter quota. If I do achieve the former, I promise not to let it go to my head. I'll still remember all of the little people from before.

There's nothing below the fold.

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