|Espresso, "Who' your bunny, hoomin; who's your bunny!?"|
|Espresso, "I don't see that hand writing, hoomin."|
My girlfriend hopped over this morning and took over one of my loafers. It's groovy, cloudy, and grumpy outside, and we pretend it's Fall. In about a month, the days will start getting shorter. My hoomin put on some acoustic space music, and we're thinking about napping until this evening.
He said the date with Murphy in the park is on for today. Yes, it might rain, but they can always cancel, I guess. The big bun will get a picnic salaaaad - go figure.
And then we'll try to grind down more the last, big lesson plan. Hoomin factors. The material is interesting, but this last mile feels exhausting. So, that's what I do in the evenings. I loaf and stare at him and try to guilt-trip him into moving that hand on paper.
We'll keep you posted,
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