A medley of urban gardening, experimental cooking, family medicine, and my life.
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Where has Simulscribe been all my life?
There’s not much that can make me laugh at 1:30am in the ICU. Except, of course, reading the Simulscribe that I just got from my dad:
“Hey, honey. It’s Dad. Just checking in, seeing how you made out today with (?) or whatever. I would make a punch with the (??) chicken shit stuff and you know, I’m happy to pay for it. You know, if it’s like 100 bucks or 150, about something like that. It’ll make life a lot easier, you know, when you’re living there.”
Sure dad. I’ll get right on that chicken shit punch. (Man, there have been so many chicken references in my life recently. I think someone’s trying to tell me something.)
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