Leggings: my stretchy soulmates.

Cowboy was up and out the door to work at 6:45 a.m.
I feel terrible for the man.
He was just shuffling, slowly.

As he had woken me up, I just crawled on out of bed too.
I had the house cleaned up by 8 a.m.—there really wasn't anything to clean.
With just us here, if we stay on top of that darn kitchen, the house stays pretty tidy.
We did leave the kitchen dirty when we went to bed, though, and that's what took the longest.

It was good that I did a tidy-up; Peacock and Gealach popped up on my doorstep at 8:57 a.m.
They didn't leave until 10 a.m.
We mostly just sat around and stared at each other.
But—that's our thing, I guess.
I did fix Gealach breakfast.
She seemed hungry this morning; she actually ate my oatmeal.
No one eats my oatmeal.

Heron headed to his girlfriend's at 10 a.m.—he and Peacock pulled out of the drive together.
He took my dog.
Oh, yeah, my dog.
Possession is 9/10ths of the law, and that giant, drooly, stinking dog of his has been sleeping at my feet for a year or more now.
The house is terribly quiet without her barking constantly.
Duffy is an old man; he's a fairly quiet dog.
He and the dog should be back tomorrow or Tuesday—I forgot to ask him.

The rest of the day has been rather uneventful and boring—boring—boring.

Badger has stayed in her room, which left me to entertain myself—and with a clean house, that was mostly the computer.

Although I did get a wild hair, and currently I can't find my bed.
I pulled every stitch of clothes I own out.
The plan was to go through and figure out what I do own.
We'll just say at this point I have a legging and black t-shirt obsession.

When one looks like an oversized mini beluga, leggings are a gal’s best friend.

The day has gone by surprisingly fast.
Cowboy got home at 6:50 a.m. 
He's stretched out in his recliner, and I doubt if he'll move before bedtime.
Which is going to come early for him—again. 
They had been weebly-wobbling about working tomorrow.
It looks like they've decided: yep, y'all are working.

I need to get off of here and go finish up my mess so he can go to bed.
I have—oh shoot—a good two more hours of figuring out what to do.
See, Cowboy has the closet.
He has this ridiculous amount of button-up shirts and jeans.
So—my clothes are currently in dressers in the bedroom proper.
 
I'm just going to have to smack my hand anytime the urge hits to buy more leggings or t-shirts.
I'm more ridiculous than Cowboy at this point.
My legging obsession will have to go in storage boxes—luckily, they can sit on the blanket box.
Will it look good?
No.
Does it matter?
No.
Cowboy and I are the only ones in the bedroom, and it's neat—it's just, you know, in boxes—and yes, I do too wear them.
No, Badger, I am not ready to get rid of some.
Bah.

Let's stop procrastinating and get back to work.