food drama
Cooked myself some SPAM fried rice for breakfast. My Gorgeous Crazy Delicious slurry of vegetables and spices and SPAM; fucking great.
Served it up all nice in a bowl, poured a tall glass of O.J., all good n' ready to eat, and BLAM!
Dropped it on the floor, the ceramic bowl cracking to pieces, yummy chow spilling out in every fuckin direction. Son of a...
Cleaned it up and served myself another bowl, my appetite a little subdued.
Work was pretty hectic. Later in the afternoon took a little time to nuke some Marie Callendar's Fettiucine Alfredo, but didn't feel like eating all the chicken in it. Didn't mix hardly any of it into the pile. Not sure why... I usually eat everything.
Spent a few hours spray-painting a bunch o' stuff. From a distance I must have looked like that Peanuts character Pig Pen, but instead of a cloud of dirt, I was encircled by a cloud of blue Rustoleum fog.
And, no, I was not wearing an air filter or respirator of any kind.
One of the managers bought a stack of pizzas. I had a little slice. Nothing, though, could distract me for long from my giant purple Pixie Stick. A little voice in my head said "stop". I didn't listen. Mindlessly pouring from the Magical Tube of Goodness while walking around doing random tasks, it eventually ran dry in an hour. Or was it ten minutes?
So, yeah, most of my evening's nutrition consisted of "paint fumes and sugar".
My internal monologue is bouncing wildly in a free-associative psychotic blur that finds itself inadvertently escaping out of my mouth in the presence of others. I know I'm sounding stupid, but I just can't seem to stop the flow of words out my effin' pie-hole.
Aw well, fuck-it.
Note to Self: "Fruits and vegetables GOOD, paint fumes and sugar BAD."