If I said, "It's what we ate for dinner," you wouldn't believe me. But, metaphorically speaking, and really, it's true. Prior to that, the dogs dug up the freshly placed plants. I have painted with my left hand due a short-term, I hope, affliction in right. Edited/consulted on some writing for a professional, ran my sewing machine for the house and for a friend, busted my Swiffer, abused the washing machine by overuse and my nose by various chemical concoctions while blasting mildew and pollen about my empire. Pretended (with conviction), once again, that I have a degree, or more, in psychology...multiple times. The list goes on.
Sorta one step ahead, two back, three ahead, four stumbles. And that's why supper turned uninspired.
You never know what you're going to get, but I reckon it's all for the best.
At least...well, I could start a lot of sentences with that one.