because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Thursday, 3 November 2011

This is all largely irrelevant to most things.

The first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning was lunch. That's a pretty normal thing for me. Got nothing in? GO BACK TO SLEEP. Know that you got paid yesterday and so can buy a vitamin sandwich with a side of awesome from the health food store just around the corner from work? I probably slept there, and I probably enjoyed that sandwich with morning breath and wearing yesterday's underwear because I wanted to make sure I was early enough for the bread to still be warm and I'm probably dribbling aubergine juice down my chin as I type this and NOMNOMNOM.

This morning my first thought was, THE PASTA! Legit panic. It suddenly occurred to me that I had totally forgotten to prepare lunch for myself last night, and right now I totally have to make my own lunch EVERY. SODDING. DAY. for the sake of my face.

October was pretty horrific in terms of learning not to take Work Shit home with me and thus making it into Can't-Sleep-For-Thinking-About-It Shit, or If-I-Close-My-Eyes-Tightly-Enough-Perhaps-I'll-Realise-That-Actually-I-Have-A-Three-Book-Deal-With-Penguin-and-Am-Really-In-The-Middle-Of-My-Own-Manuscript-Farce Shit, to Why-Has-My-Face-Suddenly-Developed-These-Horrible-Red-Welts Shit.

Side note: I always joked that when I graduated, I wasn't worried about finding work because Penguin would totally call and offer me a book deal. The kicker? Bitch has gotsta write a book before somebody can buy it. FLAW IN THE PLAN.

So October was ugly. I'm a WE GOT THIS kind of control-freak personality and so now, everyday, I have assigned myself a certain diet I must follow that incorporates twenty different types of fruit and veg and so much water that for every hour-long conversation class I hold I have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom twelve-hundred and twenty-three times. Sweet stuff has been reduced because I realised that the one time I went all day without a Coke I wanted to decapitate the bus driver when he missed my stop and I was probably a little too dependent on the sugary goodness to be fully in control of my own body.

Also: If I wanted to decapitate an Italian every time they screwed me over, there'd be a lot of headless Romans.

These red WELTS! DEAR GOD THE UGLY WELTS! on my chin and neck were, I discovered through much research via a homeopath, an aromatherapist, and Web MD, absolutely stress-related and so ORDER and CONTROL needed to be regained over my self and my emotions in order to be hot again.

Except this weekend was Halloween and the party my friend threw had so much candy and sweet stuff and OHMYGOD IS THAT ACTUAL RANCH DRESSING that I pigged out against all self-control, figured in for a penny in for a pound and threw in a lot of beer, way too many cigarettes for somebody who slavishly gave up for the sake of THE FACE and then took more treats home with me than what I had actually taken in the first place and thus the gorging and self-loathing continued for three days whilst I designed a website for my father in my pajamas. Wow. That was an exhaustingly long sentence.

It's a very slippery hill, folks, and now my body is so off-kilter that these WELTS! are creeping back which, let's be honest, is hugely stressful. And so in a sort of vicious cycle whereby the universe punishes my promiscuity by making me ugly for a while which is like, TOTALLY STRESSFUL, I am becoming ugly again and so when I forget to make the pasta for lunch I wake up all THE PASTA! THE PASTA! only WebMD recommended sleep and lots of it so then I was all SLEEP! NO! THE PASTA! SLEEP! PASTA! SLEEP! PASTA!

And that's how my life goes.

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