I've been hovering just at the edge of consciousness for a while now, refusing to open my eyes as if that means I'm still asleep. Everything here is just so warm and cozy that I can't bring myself to face reality. My alarm clock will go off soon and I'll have to face the world again.

My body tenses and I stretch a little, and my foot knocks against something solid. My eyes finally open a crack and I can't help but grin at the sight that greets me.

Donna.

It's real. My half-dreaming, half-waking state didn't allow for much in the way of real thinking, but it also didn't exactly encourage reality. I can't help but be eternally thankful to whomever or whatever is out there that all of this hasn't been the hallucinations of an exhausted shell of a human being.

I open my eyes completely, taking her in. That I'm waking up next to her still boggles my mind. She looks completely peaceful and beautiful as she sleeps.

How is this my life?

Vaguely, I notice that light is starting to creep into the room, so I carefully turn my head to check the alarm clock, surprised to see that it's already after seven.

Everything else starts to come back to me—it's Saturday. We're still on vacation. Our flight got in late last night, and after we got to my apartment, we didn't bother to do much other than brush our teeth and crawl into bed.

How domestic. I can't help but roll my eyes to myself. I've been with the woman for all of two and a half weeks and we're already just falling asleep together.

In fairness, we had an insane amount of sex in Hawaii. I'm still not quite sure how I kept up, but I'm sure it has something to do with fresh air and exotic fruit. Not to mention that we'd been on a plane almost all of yesterday and it wasn't exactly conducive to comfort, and it was an ungodly hour in the morning when we stumbled in.

Judging by how well I slept last night—and all of last week—I'm not opposed to just being in her presence and feeling rested.

She makes a little noise and turns over, her back to me. I waste no time in scooting up behind her, molding my body to hers. I'm fairly certain we fell asleep this way last night, but one thing we've learned in the last week is that we're not close sleepers, at least not all the time. We'll fall asleep that way, and if I wake up in the middle of the night, I'll rearrange myself so I'm near her, but I usually wake up sprawled on my back with her on her side or face down if she's really exhausted. Of course, we'll then do something nauseating like this, cuddling each other into wakefulness.

Seriously, Josh Lyman from a month ago would be disgusted by this, but there's a lot to be said for finding a soothing way to greet the morning, and it just so happens that Donna Moss is the right balm. It's nice to wrap our arms around each other and whisper in the quiet of a dark room, jut enjoying each other's company before we face the day.

I sigh and wrap my arm around her waist. She's not really awake at all yet, but that doesn't bother me. I really like being able to hold her like this. I press a kiss to her shoulder and smile. This is the absolute best way to sleep and wakeup. I've never been exceptionally fond of sharing a bed with another person. It's less of a selfish thing and more of a situation where I'm just always hyper-aware of the body next to mine, waking up constantly when I shift, she shifts, that sort of thing. Aside from the first night we spent together, sleeping beside Donna has felt completely natural. I've heard that, ultimately, people sleep better on their own. However, having spent a solid week sleeping next to Donna, I'm finding that to be actual garbage.

I let my hand wander to her stomach, disappointed to find it covered, and I can't even remember either of us putting on clothes last night. I bunch up the bottom of the shirt and maneuver my hand beneath it, stroking her soft skin. Why on earth did she put on a shirt last night and…I pause, letting my hand drift down for a second—damn it, pajama pants. Neither of us have slept in anything but a smile for a week.

A bit more of the evening comes back to me, and I suddenly remember that we actually showered, too. She insisted on getting the airplane funk off of her, and I was only too happy to oblige. It wound up being a fairly innocent shower, all things considered, with only some mild groping and fooling around, both of us too tired to really do much else. Unfortunately.

But still…why the clothes? We didn't even bother to unpack. I force my eyes open again and angle my head a little, looking down at her. I grin a moment later—she's definitely wearing my undershirt. I bet if I were to look, she'd be wearing my pajama pants, too.

God, she's adorable. I wonder what it says about me that I love that she's already commandeering my clothing.

I manage to snake my other arm beneath her and pull her closer, sighing happily as she settles against me. It'd probably be easy to fall asleep again—Donna really is the best remedy for all the sleep I've lost over the last year—but we only have a couple of days together before we have to back to work. Do I really want to waste all that time in bed?

Well…do I want to waste all that time sleeping? In bed is a whole different can of worms.

My fingers wander lower, dipping below the edge of her pants. I'm honestly not really trying to grope her, but the need to touch her in some capacity is simply overwhelming, even more so now that I'm allowed to.

She turns her head a little, rubbing her nose against my bicep before planting a soft kiss there. I remain quiet, waiting to see what she does. She's probably awake, or at least on the verge, but I'm not going to give her that nudge if she's more interested in sleep.

She kisses me again and clears her throat. "Good morning," she says, her voice low, throaty, and completely sexy. I bury my face a little farther into her neck, kissing her delicate skin reverently.

"Morning," I answer, happy when she presses herself a little closer. I tighten my arms around her, unable to get close enough.

Her head turns again, this time toward mine. I lean over her shoulder a little, unable to stop from grinning just a little before our lips meet. That whole morning breath thing never seems to faze us. Maybe it's the early stages of the whole relationship thing, but I've never noticed her breath to be unappealing.

She shifts, moving onto her back, and I drape myself half over her as her arms wrap around my neck. My hands roam of their own volition, sliding roughly up and down her sides, her hips and thighs, until I get one hand under her shirt. My fingers kneed her breast with all the finesse of a sixteen-year-old while I devour her mouth. Still, all she does is giggle softly and thread her fingers through my hair, holding me close. She bends her leg, rubbing her toes against my calf.

I come up for air, gasping, pressing my lips to first her cheek, then her earlobe, and finally her neck before I settle my head next to hers on the pillow. I shift most of my weight off her, keeping our legs twined. "Now it's a good morning," I mumble.

"I'll say," she answers, squishing closer to me. "You realize you're still groping me, right?"

I hadn't, actually, though I now realize I'm holding onto her breast like a security blanket. "I'm okay with that."

"You would be," she grumbles good-naturedly. "You're such a dirty old man."

"Only when it comes to you, oddly."

She giggles again and leans up, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. "Well, that's all right, then."

I could stop fondling her, but that doesn't seem interesting. Instead, I loosen my grip on her breast but continue to slide my fingers over her gently, watching in fascination as her nipple hardens to a tantalizing peak beneath my undershirt. "What do you want to do today?" I ask, my voice probably an octave lower than normal.

She shudders a little, but other than that shows no reaction to what I'm attempting to do to her. "Nothing fun, probably."

I moan in mock frustration. "Why not?" I whine.

"I have to do laundry. I hadn't gotten to it for at least a week before we left and now I have an extra week's worth to wash. I have to bring a lot of stuff to the dry cleaners, too, and if I'm lucky, it'll be ready by tomorrow."

"Sounds domestic," I answer, kissing her neck again.

"It's necessary. I'm about two pairs of socks from having to go out and just buy more clothes."

"That's better. Let's do that so we can lounge around in bed all day."

She turns to face me, our noses less than an inch apart on our shared pillow. "It's cute that you think going shopping for clothes would be faster than washing what I have." She gives me a quick kiss, smiling. "Haven't you spent enough time with me this past week?"

I roll my eyes, trying to pull her closer. "Like one week of sex is going to satisfy years of yearning."

"'Yearning'?" she repeats, a wide grin breaking out across her features.

I just shrug, genuinely not caring how needy I sound. "Use whatever word you want, but I certainly don't want you less now that we're back on the east coast."

"How about this? I take care of all that mundane stuff today, and if you're still interested, we'll do the all day in bed thing tomorrow."

"Sounds excellent." Still, we make no move to get up. It's very hard to convince myself that we need to get out of bed.

"I have to call CJ," she finally mumbles.

"Why?"

"Because most of my laundry is at her place, and I need to let her know that I'm coming over. It doesn't make me a bad friend to abuse her hospitality, disappear for a week, then come back to use her washer and dryer, right?"

I chuckle, pausing a moment later. "Why are you doing laundry there?"

"Well, Josh, that's where my stuff is," she answers slowly, like I'm an idiot. In fairness, I am an idiot most of the time.

"Yeah, but I have a washer and dryer here."

"Right…"

"So do your laundry here. Toss in the stuff from Hawaii, then we'll go over to CJ's and get your stuff and do the rest when we get back. If you do your laundry there, won't you kind of be, you know, there all day?"

"I can't spend time with my friend?"

I feel like I've fallen to some female trap. "Donna, don't make me beg. Aren't we still on our vacation? Is it a crime to want to be with you as much as possible before we go back to work? Does that make me a terrible person?"

She's quiet for a moment before sighing. "Your mother would be proud."

"Uhhh what?"

"That whole Jewish guilt thing. She's managed to pass it along quite nicely."

I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll take what I can get, as long as that means I get to spend more time with you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she grumbles. She props herself up then, draping her body half over mine, and kisses me. I can't help but moan with the intensity of it. I tighten my grip on her and roll fully onto my back. Her leg slides against mine and she pushes her hips into my groin. I think I can actually feel my blood rush out of my brain and head south.

Without warning, she peels herself away from me and sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed. "What the hell?" I gasp.

"You have your inherent guilt, I have other things." With that she stands and stretches and even though I'm in a semi-delirious state, I still take a moment to appreciate the way my shirt rides up on her stomach and the way my pajama pants hang low on her hips. She's somehow both adorable and sexy. Her ass sways involuntarily as she pads her way around the foot of the bed. She glances at me from the doorway of the connecting bathroom, her cheeks a little pink, and she grins at me sheepishly before shutting the door. I can hear the faucet running a moment later, and I grin ruefully to myself. It's that strange intimacy thing. We have absolutely no problem with being naked in front of each other, with putting our hands and mouths on each other in any number of intimate ways, but God forbid we're aware of each other's bodily functions. I'm no better. I'm not exactly fond of her hearing me do any of that stuff. I'm sure it'll even out eventually, but for now, we're still skittish about bathroom stuff.

I shrug, pulling a pillow over my face. No matter. I have to try to get my body to relax. Between my natural morning state and the fact that I just had Donna crawling all over me, I'm pitching a pretty healthy tent right now. At least I know that I put on boxers last night, if the straining fabric is any indication.

I take deep breaths, doing my best to ignore the fact that I can smell Donna on the pillow I'm using to cover my face. All of my calm, cleansing thoughts are laced with thoughts of her, in any various states of undress.

I really have regressed to a sixteen-year-old boy.

I redouble my efforts, feeling a small amount of relief as my erection starts to ease off. Sure, it's a little disappoint to let it go to waste, especially after a solid week of not letting a single moment of being turned on fall by the wayside, but even I can admit to being a bit…raw. I can only imagine how she's feeling. And if pushing it back now means we get to have a day of sex tomorrow, it's a sacrifice I'm more than willing to make.

Suddenly, the pillow is ripped from my face, and then, before I know what's happening, I'm being whacked with it.

"Get up!"

I blink in shock, and Donna grins back at me before heading out of the room. God, I adore her.

I do manage to drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. The man looking back at me in the mirror is completely different than the one there just over a week ago. I'm definitely more relaxed—being in paradise with the woman you love more than anything else in this world will do that. I take care of the necessities, pausing a moment to appreciate the way her toothbrush looks next to mine. It's such a stupid, minor thing to focus on, and they've been side by side all week at the resort, but something about her green toothbrush next to my blue one in the cup holder makes me grin like a fool.

I rub my cheeks as I brush my teeth, wondering if I can get by without shaving. The little scruff I have doesn't seem to bother Donna, and I shaved before we left for the airport yesterday—should be fine. I lean a little closer to the mirror, sighing with regret as I notice yet again that my pseudo-beard is peppered with white hair. Most days, I don't think I look too old, at least not abnormally so, and the last week feels like it took years off my appearance and added to my life expectancy, but the white in my beard makes me feel like people are going to notice when I'm out with Donna and wonder what someone who looks like her is doing with someone who looks like me. Hell, I'm wondering what a woman in her early thirties wants with a guy in his mid forties. Other than teasing me about it, the age gap doesn't seem to bother her. I didn't think it'd be a thing for me, but a hot young girlfriend can bring out enough insecurities to almost negate the fact that it makes me feel like some kind of superman.

I stagger out of the bathroom and dig around in my bureau, finding another pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. I hop around for a minute as I try to pull on the pants, grateful that said hot young girlfriend isn't in the room to see me look like a loser at this particular moment, before I manage to get myself half dressed. The smell of coffee brewing lures me out to the kitchen before I can manage the rest. The sight that greets me almost knocks me off my feet.

It's not even anything monumental—just Donna standing at the counter by the coffeemaker, looking like she belongs here.

"I put your vacation stuff in with mine," she says without turning around, her uncanny ability to sense when I'm near making me grin. "Hope you don't mind. Seemed less time-consuming than separate loads. I called CJ and she said to come over whenever. So far, she hasn't been called into work and only has plans to lounge around in her underwear all day. I'm only mostly sure she's kidding about that last part."

"How long was I in there?" I ask, impressed she can accomplish so much in such a short amount of time. I take a few steps forward and slide my arms around her waist. "Help yourself to whatever," I tell her teasingly, tugging at the edges of one of my zip-up sweatshirts she's now wearing.

"I was cold," she answers defensively. "I'm always cold, and it's November. Just the fact that you're traipsing around here without a shirt on makes me cold."

I let go of her long enough to drag my t-shirt over my head, pulling her back to me as quickly as possible. "Better?"

She puts her hands over mine, drawing my arms around her tighter. "Marginally."

"I'll be your hot water bottle," I promise, pressing my lips to her ear. "I'm happy to keep you warm."

She ducks her head, my breath tickling her, and turns in my arms, gazing at me with a twinkle in her eyes. "You know what I like about you, Josh?"

I can only imagine where this is going. "What's that?"

"You have almost no food in your apartment—not even staples like canned vegetables or boxes of pasta—but you have three different types of coffee and no less than ten different containers of powdered creamer in varying states of use."

I grin, leaning down slightly to kiss her. "I have my priorities straight."

"You're an overgrown child is what you are." She kisses me again and pulls back, hoisting herself onto the counter next to the coffeemaker. "And on that note, since you don't have anything here, you're buying me breakfast."

I lift my eyebrow at her, amused. "Oh, I am, am I? I just bought you a vacation in Hawaii and now I get to buy you breakfast?"

"That's what happens when you invite a woman to spend the night and don't have any food on hand."

It's on the tip of my tongue to say something snarky along the lines of me not actually inviting her to spend the night, but when we got in the cab last night, I gave the driver my address. That may not be an explicit invitation, but I'd agree that it was an invitation nonetheless. It's also completely true that I have next to nothing in regards to food, and that makes me a terrible host. Still, old habits die hard and I can't help but tease her a bit. "I should make you buy me breakfast."

"I should take you to Safeway, teach you how to shop for groceries. It's not a crime to keep food on hand, Josh."

"If I start grocery shopping, think how the local takeout places will suffer."

"It's true what they say—not all superheroes wear capes."

I snicker, and her silly grin lights up her entire face. "I like to play my part in the local economy."

"Then find a local grocery store," she counters. "Think of the money you'll save by cooking a meal at home once a week."

"It's no fun cooking for myself," I answer.

She rolls her eyes. "I can probably guarantee a dinner companion at least one night a week."

"Sounds promising." I waggle my eyebrows at her. "I could be convinced to learn about this thing you call grocery shopping."

"How magnanimous." She nudges me with her foot. "You still owe me breakfast."

I lean in and give her a quick kiss. "Deal."

"You're a real hard sell, you know that?"

I shrug shamelessly and grab one of the creamers off the counter, adjusting the cup of coffee she poured me to my liking. She watches me, swinging her feet a little, her own mug clutched to her chest, and I can't help but feel overwhelmed with…something. Nothing bad, but it's still…overwhelming. I can only manage a couple of sips before I put the mug down, moving to stand between her legs. She barely manages to put down her own mug before I wrap my arms around her, propping my chin on her shoulder. She hugs me in response, her fingers stroking the nape of my neck. "You okay?" she whispers.

"I love you," I answer, squeezing her tighter.

She presses a kiss to my shoulder. "I love you, too."

I can't help the rush I get at hearing those words. I hope I always feel a little light-headed when she tells me that. "Move in with me."

Her entire body freezes. "What?"

"Move in with me," I repeat, knowing without a doubt that I want Donna to be here all the time.

"Josh…that's crazy."

"Why?"

"Why? You're kidding, right? You're asking me why it's crazy to move in with you when we just started dating about a week ago?" She pushes away from me, her hands on my shoulders to keep me from pulling her back. Her eyes are as big as saucers and she's already breathing faster.

"Did we, though?"

"Did we?"

"Did we really just start dating?"

"Did we…Josh, I was there."

"Yeah, but haven't we sort of been dating for years?"

"No!"

"Well, it's not like we need to get to know each other. You know more about me than anyone ever has, and I'm pretty comfortable saying the same about you."

"Josh…"

"It's not like I'm not going to take you out on dates and stuff just because we're living together. I just want you here every morning, like this."

"We don't have to live together for me to be here every morning."

I cock my head at her, a little confused. "What—do you want to stay in CJ's guestroom indefinitely?"

"I hadn't planned on it. I was just going to stay there until I could get my bearings and give enough notice to Shannon—"

"Who?"

"Twitchy chick subletting my apartment?"

I get the feeling she's told me that name before and I must have forgotten it. "Have you even told her you're back?"

"No, I haven't called her yet."

"Any particular reason why?"

She makes a face at me. "Well, she knew I was working on the campaign, and I can't imagine her not being aware that we have a new president."

"But you haven't called her."

"I think it's safe to assume she knows I'm back in town and that she should be looking for a new place."

"But you haven't called her."

"Thanks for the recap."

"You haven't—"

"I've been busy! I didn't think about it on election night, obviously, and even getting back here for the funeral, I didn't think about it until I needed somewhere to stay. Then everything got so crazy with the transition and I kept meaning to call her, but the days got away from me, and we've been out of touch with real life for a week."

I step back from her a little, grabbing my mug again. "So you're probably figuring you'd give her a month to find somewhere to live, right? You're too good of a person to tell her to just get out. So that puts you through the middle to end of December. You figured you'd stay at CJ's that whole time? You really didn't want to ask me?"

She shrugs, suddenly looking helpless and small on the counter, my clothes nearly swallowing her. "I…"

"We're at that point, Donna. I want you to stay with me."

"No, you want me to move in with you," she corrects. "You didn't ask me to sleep here for a few nights or until Shannon finds a new place. You said I should move in here."

"And you should. I want to live with you."

"It's too soon, Josh."

"Okay, let's say twitchy—uh, Shannon—can't find somewhere by the end of December. It's possible, right? Real estate can be tough to come by in DC, even more so when a new administration is coming in. It could take her a couple of months to find something and you're still not going to kick her out beforehand. Are you going to stay in CJ's guestroom indefinitely? I know she's your friend but don't you think she might want her space back at some point?"

"Are you trying to make me feel bad?"

"No, I'm just trying to help you see how impractical it is."

"So I should move in with you because it's practical?"

I sigh and shake my head, taking a deliberate sip of my coffee. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying, if you're interested in twisting my words around. I just want you here. I want you in the mornings and I want you at night and I want your stuff here with mine. But since you won't listen to that, I thought maybe you'd like to hear that your current plan is a bit flawed."

She stares at me, a look I can't read on her face. Finally, she slides off the counter and rinses out her coffee cup, ducking around me. I watch as she silently grabs our suitcases from the living room and drags them down the hall. I literally scratch my head. What the hell is happening?

I can hear noises down the hall—fortunately nothing slamming or being thrown around, which I take as a good sign—or at least not a terrible sign—so I follow the sounds into my bedroom, leaning against the doorjamb to watch her. Somehow, she's managed to already make the bed and now she's getting dressed, which is almost as fascinating as watching her get undressed. Her back is to me, and I have a nearly unobstructed view of her ass, the lace of her underwear just barely covering her. Her arms look like they're dislocating as she reaches around to her back, hooking her bra. I just spent a week with her while she paraded around in skimpy bikinis and, almost as often, nothing at all, but something about Donna standing around in her underwear in the middle of my bedroom excites me in ways I can't explain.

"You still have some stuff that's clean," she says, her back to me. "But I'm not putting away your clothes." She pulls a pair of jeans and a shirt out of her suitcase. I walk over to her and grab her hip gently, pulling her into me. I'm more than a little relieved when her hands grab onto the backs of my arms, her body relaxing against mine. I realize I've done something wrong, but I'm not entirely sure what. Truthfully, I don't think she knows, either.

"What are you doing?" I ask, pressing my lips against her forehead. Even when she's not wearing shoes, she's almost as tall as I am. I have to admit that I like that we're on an even playing field and that I don't have to strain my neck to look at her.

"I'm getting dressed so I can go to CJ's," she answers with a shrug. I slide my hands from her hips to her back, letting my fingers wander over her soft skin. She sighs, lifting herself to the balls of her feet and presses a quick kiss to my lips.

"Did you want to go alone, or should I come with you?"

She blinks at me, uncertain. "Uh…that's up to you, I guess. Like I said, I just need to do boring things."

"Don't care. I want to spend time with you." Part of me is a little surprised that I'm actually vocalizing this stuff, but I've spent too much time not saying things to her. I always want to be around her, which has been true for a long time. "We'll take my car; it'll go faster."

"Faster? You in a rush?"

"If we get through all the tedious stuff, then maybe I can convince you to start naked Sunday a little early."

She snickers, giving me another kiss before disentangling herself. I flop down onto the bed, watching with regret as she pulls on her jeans, though she manages to make that look sexy, too. Her eyebrows lift as she grabs her shirt, eyeing me. "You planning on going out like that?"

"I'm a guy. It takes me two seconds to get dressed."

She rolls her eyes and just to prove a point, I wait until she's about to pull on socks before finding clothes, stuffing myself into jeans and a sweater and shoving my feet into sneakers before she finishes tying her own shoes. I grin at her cheekily and she just gives me a look of affectionate disgust. "Men."

"Charming, aren't we?"

"Not the word I'd use, but we'll go with that for now." She glances at my suitcase, and I swear I can see her twitching. "You're just going to leave that there, like that?"

"It'll still be there when we get home."

Her eyes cut to me when I say "home," and it hits me that at this moment, "home" is possibly a loaded word. "Or you could just take thirty seconds to put away the half a dozen shirts you never wore."

I groan, knowing I sound like a petulant child, and I really don't want to put the stuff away. I lived out of a suitcase for most of a year—my t-shirts and boxers won't be any worse off by sitting around another couple of hours. She's also compulsively neat and doesn't particularly like to leave things lying about when they could just as easily be put away.

My mouth opens just a fraction before I snap it shut again, grabbing my clothes. If I want her to live with me, I have to show her that I'm a lost cause. I'm hers to train in any way she wants and if she wants me to put away a few pieces of clothing, then by God, that's what I'll do.

Her eyes grow wide as she watches me, but before she can say anything, a loud buzzing makes me jump. "Clothes are done," she answers, looking vaguely disgusted as she walks to the doorway. "Have you ever actually used your washing machine?"

"Not that I can recall," I answer as she disappears, not a hint of sarcasm in my voice. I genuinely don't know when it was last used. Before the Santos campaign, I regularly sent my laundry out, letting strangers have the honor of starching my shorts. I was never home long enough to even think about doing it myself and it seemed easier to let others do it for me.

I grab the sweatshirt she was wearing—after putting my suitcase in the closet where it belongs—and make my way back through the apartment. I hear a metallic clang followed by the unmistakable sounds of clothes tumbling in a dry and she pops out of the tiny utility room next to the kitchen. "You sure you want to come?"

"You trying to get rid of me?"

"Of course not. I just don't want you to feel like you're being dragged along while I run errands."

"I'm pretty sure you said you were going to take me grocery shopping. Apparently, I need more around here than coffee." I hold out the sweatshirt to her, offering to help put it on, and she looks a little confused. "I'm assuming you don't have a winter jacket with you. I didn't see one on the plane."

She grimaces in embarrassment, turning to let me help her. "I never even thought about it, I guess. It didn't feel too bad here when we left, and I don't even remember if it was cold when we got in last night."

"It was, and you were," I answer, turning her around to zip her up. "I was very kind and shared my body heat." She looks a little amused at my actions, but I just lean down, kissing the tip of her nose. I grab my own jacket, then my keys and wallet and hold open the door for her.

So, there you have it—the first part of my exploration of Josh and Donna in their new relationship. There'll probably be four chapters total. I have another story I typed up that's definitely on the naughty side, and two more that need to be taken from my notebook. I'm currently working on another story—well, two, really—that'll be told from both of their POVs. Hopefully, it won't be redundant. Those'll be on the naughty side, too. Oddly, everything I have right now is from Josh's perspective. I wonder how that happened.

Anyway, I've had a truly horrible week. I'm hoping that all of you are faring much better.