Cookies.

I feel like a zombie June Cleaver. Trudging around, cleaning the house. Shuffling through the grocery store. Making cookies. I'm making cookies. Cookies I shouldn't eat, but I will. Cookies for my old guy, cookies for a neighbor who did us a favor, cookies for my friend that is fixing my bike. Cookies, three kinds. At 8 o'clock at night. Though I felt that the ten hours of sleep I had last night (?!?!?!?!TEN?!?!?!?!) just made me feel logy and irritable, I think it gave me some weird reserve for cookie making. Maybe I should sleep ten hours every night. Ha.