There isn’t really much to report. If I wrote about the truth, this would be the most boringest blog ever.

We went out to dinner for our 20th anniversary. We at delicious food at a somewhat upscale restaurant, and it still cost roughly as much as the dinners that we had for our first two anniversaries.

We both travel so infrequently that we ended up both making plans to go out of town for overlapping days next month, so we’ll need to find someone to take care of the cats.

I called some financial institutions to explain that I am really bad at adulting and that I don’t know my account number or anything about how much money might be in the account, but could they please just send the 1099 to the address on file for any accounts that go with my social security number because I can’t find any of my tax forms, and I’m trying to pretend that I’m going to do my taxes before October this year. (Spoiler alert: It probably would have been easier to ignore that $17.61 of income and then offered to write the IRS a check for the cost of a cup of coffee.) I know that I’m not allowed to like a national sales tax, but our ridiculous system of financial scrapbooking doesn’t really suit me particularly well.

In the past two days I have had two pleasing victories at writing fairly trivial regular expressions, one of which allowed me to parse server logs well enough to determine that 5.7% of the organic search traffic to our site in a 100 minute interval all ended up on the same page. It’s likely the same page that you have been to if you happened upon our site by accident.

And I have a headache. I had one yesterday. And the day before yesterday (why is ereyesterday no longer a word?). And the one before that, and the one before that. It makes it very hard to think about mathematics, to construct an argument, or to invent something delightful.