My lips taste like cloves. Every time I taste them, I smile.

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This sums it all up well. Look for the details, not the story:
- We have absolutely no clean glasses in our apartment. Even the shallow bowls that can be used as cups are dirty. However - every plate is clean.
- I am covered in bruises. About twenty, with varying degrees of hematoma severity.

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Text from my wife:
"I'm eating a McGriddle from 9 this morning when i was too sick puking in public bathrooms."

Oh, my love. She said is best: "my love oh dear oh dear."

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Rough week, you guys. But it's been wonderful.