You know, on Sunday I:
– ended up doing a big food shop, which I had not planned on doing. At times I considered abandoning the trolley but then thought, ‘yes, but what will we eat’.
– raced home because my reticence at the a few things shop which became the big shop meant I was late getting home for Felix’s soccer try-outs.
– got home, threw the cold things in the fridge and jumped back in the car to spend 2 hours in the blazing sun watching my son not really commit to soccer try-outs and remember why I hated soccer so much when he played it before. It is so cliquey compared to our local AFL team, a game he wanted to be a professional player in but isn’t playing this year ‘because I’m good at that now’.
– came home to unpack all the groceries and deal with the two loads of washing needing to be hung out.
– as I was unpacking the groceries saw moths in the cupboard and, being so over the wildlife taking over this house, decided to wipe out a shelf. Which ended up being a clean-out of the whole damn pantry.
– seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time staring at the floor as I attempted yoga to pick things up, put things away, halt the transformation of our lounge room into a tip.

And you know what, it all sent me into a bit of a fug.

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