Dreamed of travelling by car from New England.
Dinner was the rest of the shrimp and Italian food.
I was going to bake gingerbread late in the evening for them to sell at the Toronto City Opera tomorrow, but I couldn't find the cinnamon. This whole thing happened because someone went and rearranged the whole kitchen and put everything in plastic boxes. I used to know where everything was: the spices used to be in one place. Now they're in at least three places and those plastic boxes make it almost impossible to search through things. It's an issue of respect!
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