5:30 p.m. — Head home. My boss has been out all week, and it occurs to me I'm doing this wrong. I call D. from the car and we talk about dinner. Turns out we had some frozen chicken and we still had a leftover zucchini we bought and didn't use last week. Being an adult is having the “we have food at home” talk with yourself over and over, or so I'm told. D. grills the chicken and I make oven-fried zucchini, and it ends up being a delicious meal. I comment that I enjoyed it even more than the previous night's filet. Who says evolution takes millions of years? We watch a little basketball and it does nothing to keep me awake. I tell D. I'm ready for bed and he agrees. Nightly routine and we're both out by 9:45.