Garghedy gargh.

In yet another astonishing display of my excellent thirty-two-year-old judgment, I elected not to go grocery shopping on my last day of unemployment, even though the larder was looking mighty bare, and my work schedule is bizarre and precludes grocery shopping after work, especially since my go-to H.E.B. has the audacity to close at nine p.m. Thanks, guys!

As a result, lunch today consisted of what I have dubbed the Shell Station tapas platter (on account that there is one within walking distance of my Den o’ Employment):

Two packaged string cheeses

A small bag of Kettle chips

Tropicana cranberry juice replication drink!

Hopefully my trusty alarm clock—who also goes by Spartacus—will spur me to be awake early enough tomorrow to remedy this situation. Especially since kibble is one of the many things I am almost out of.