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self-pity/honesty, 150-250 milliKafkas 

Now I'm just feeling like a big pyre of disillusionment. Let's throw some Steven Universe on that fire and make it as much worse as possible, shall we? :p

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self-pity/honesty, 150-250 milliKafkas 

Tried going to cafe. Ended up wanting to just see everybody I came across just *die* in a wave of concentrated misanthropy. (Kicked off perhaps by the ultra-nosy guy who wanted to be Bus Stop Friends a little too badly.) Decided I had better steer myself home. Wasted entire day sleeping.

Endured a tidal wave, self-conjured, of bad thoughts about how much things have deteriorated with my old friends-- both between me and them, and them and others.

100-120 milliKafkas 

*stares through frosted glass cabinet at the Emergency Cheesecake*

*picks up small silver hammer next to cabinet and ponders something gravely*

*sighs*

*leaves hammer dangling on its chain and goes to curl up with a fox plushie for a few hours instead*

low-grade depression (~50-70 milliKafkas) 

Meh. I'm just tired. I'm not even necessarily unhappy, just deeply listless, unmotivated, and incredibly difficult to impress. Feeling so burnt out, if you tapped me, I'd fall apart like a cartoon coyote holding the charred remains of an ACME crate.

I'm enjoying it in a way. No motivation means nothing is currently in crisis mode. The fire ALREADY happened. It's out now. I'm just not quite sure why I didn't come back on-model in the next scene.

Dragons can be agonizingly difficult to read emotionally, and I'm pretty sure she's going to break down and eat me one of these mornings, but damned if Peg isn't the cutest thing with >10 hit dice sometimes.

reddit 

I just returned from a Reddit conversation in which I learned one and only one thing: I have a previously unconscious prejudice against people whose usernames contain any variation of the word "Malkavian."

profoundly unhealthy-looking food 

This is what I mean when I say I love-hate my job. I'm effectively getting paid to research European pancake taxonomy, so we can make a tight category call. I ran into these in the process, and I can't get them out of my mind now:

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaisersc

Enmerkar sits at the breakfast table in a crisp blue suit, reading the newspaper and nursing a cup of coffee.

. o O ("I should get some kobolds.")​

reminder to self (& others if useful):
There is a version of your life where you capitalized on every opportunity, spoke the cleverest words every time, salvaged every relationship, cherished each moment as it passed,
and it's all pure fantasy.
You're a creature of meat & bone flying through invisible decision gates with very little available information. Do the best with what you can get and remember you did, later, when the regrets set in. There is no Perfect 100% No Damage run.

day jorb ("-"/+) 

But this job only gets REALLY fun when we the staff have to start speculating on the drunkenness level of our hypothetical user in order to issue a proper rating. :D

(Such as, exactly how drunk do you have to get in order to accept doner kebab as Greek food? Does this vary based on whether the user is, say, German, Greek, or Turkish to start with?)

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day jorb ("-"/+) 

Today's Telecommuter Problem:

I'm still recovering from holiday food temptations... and my first day back at work is nothing but GREEK, SPANISH, AND TURKISH SEAFOOD AND FARM-TO-TABLE RESTAURANTS, with the occasional Vietnamese family restaurant. Like, in Hanoi.

I NEED DANGER PAY FOR THIS.

And maybe about $70 in BiteSquad credits. >_>;

I really intended to start my diet in earnest today, but both my body and my mother had different plans. -_-

Brace yourselves, @literorrery​ and company-- you are the ones in the most imminent danger of a cookie bomb.

Maybe more like a cookie nuke. A veritable cookie Tunguska must be unleashed on innocents, one way or the other (eight Ziploc tubs of them!) if I am to survive the month.

(Honestly, I still might pick "cookies" over "survival." We'll see how 2018 starts out. XD )

nightmares (-) 

Well, brain, isn't that a lovely way to send me into one of the largest social gatherings of the year, after one of the worst years of my life.

Dreamed that some kind of dispute over a car escalated into a prank war, and somehow it got so bad I'd accidentally killed the couple on the other side.

It was national news. I couldn't walk down the street without being scowled out. Because of a split-second loss of self-control.

Yeah.

Dammit. *reaches for BBQ fork, locates own eyes*

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