Pass the Buckleys, please.

We’re down for the count.  Both Hubby and I are ill.  I feel yucky, like I was squeezed out of a Play-Doh shaper.  That’s quite the word-picture, isn’t it?

All of this comes at a most inconvenient time.  We’re moving.  Our home needs to be packed up and moved out within a week.  Wow.  Overwhelming.

I think the combination of a pressing deadline, Kleenex fumes, and lack of sleep make for an incoherent concoction.  I have many thoughts swirling around, but none of them make too much sense right now.

Right now, if my brain dumped everything into Wordle, “sleep” would be the biggest word off of which everything else was hanging.