{fuck you 1949} more cat (literal & figurative) vomit! work: horribly boring. i finish my shit in the first third of my shift, then go hunting for things to do. you know, other people's shit. or making a project of something not strictly necessary. how long can i do this? those people you find, like seashells in the sand? the ones who share fill-in-the-blank with you? i can't find them. i just want to play. part of the hr/benefits monthly bulletin for january included a blurb on emotional eating. it claimed that all food cravings are a symptom of emotional eating, that is: eating to satisfy a non-food hunger. food is such a vague word; it could mean a specific dish or could apply to an entire ethnic cuisine. i'd love to disagree with their claim, but apparently that would only strengthen their argument. (yay for booby trap arguments.) i ate hummus and flatbread. i feel desolate. i'll be sure to check, next time i eat hummus and flatbread, whether i feel desolate again. antecedant, not consequent, naturally. two late twenties/early thirties women came into the store wearing totally vintage getups. i love vintage, i love wearing vintage, i love it when others wear vintage, but when you add SNOTTY FUCKING VINTAGE PURSES I WILL FUCKING HATE YOU. seriously, it's not 1949. i think i also hate christmas. i reserve the right to amend this opinion after christmas.

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