My work week is finished, the cook gave me a huge piece of cake to bring home (it was broken and he knew I would love it so he didn't throw it out) and when I get home I sit in my Porsche in the driveway in my spot to the left of the garage beside the steps to August's loft and I eat the cake with my fingers.
It was a good plan until Caleb knocked on the window and I dropped a fistful of cake all over my lap. What a waste. But secondary win, my car now smells like chocolate cake.
Eating sweets in secret usually means someone is cheating on their diet.*
What diet? I ask through a mouthful of cake.
He frowns. I don't understand how he managed to raise you with zero manners.
I have manners! I'm supposed to use them for important people.
He misses the burn completely, apparently distracted by the fact that it's three in the afternoon and no one's claimed my attention yet. They don't even know I'm home. Actually they might if they heard the car but sometimes they sit outside too, in their vehicles. I always thought they were probably listening to the end of a song or something but from now on I will assume they're also eating secret cake. That must be why Caleb is out here waiting. He's either the nutrition police or he's hoping I will share.
Well I won't and I'll go to jail if I must. Sugar is worth more than oxygen to me.
I agree to come over after dinner. I can stay up a little later, as I don't have to work tomorrow, and he's been great about not trying to monopolize my time. New Year's eve technically didn't exist except I did indeed wait up for Henry and then texted with Ruth around three in the morning and then I got up at five and went to work.
We did absolutely nothing. Loch dozed off. Ben only came upstairs at twelve ten to say Happy New Year and PJ never even made it past ten-thirty. New Jake was a no-show (he said he was on a phone call) and Matt and Sam didn't come over. I haven't seen them in days. So it was sort of a non-existent celebration in which we didn't celebrate but I did make a few resolutions. I gave up pop. Makes me have to pee, never makes me less thirsty, and is always far too sweet anyway. I rarely have it as it is. I'm going to treat myself to more water plus more hot drinks like tea or an afternoon hot chocolate instead (not too sweet since I put a half-teaspoon of mix in for a huge mug). No drugs and by that I mean I went off the shit the doctor put me on. I threw out all of the pills that make me miserable and I plan to keep advil and decongestants in my medicine drawer and the rest is going away. Part of the reason I always feel so tired and energy-less and nauseous is the endless cocktail of birth control (that isn't for preventing pregnancy, long story), sleeping pills, headache pills, cold pills, stomach pills, stress pills, depressing pills, fucking pills holy fucking jesus no more pills so there you go.
I'm just going to eat cake all the time instead. So far so good. Also, it's GOING TO SNOW TONIGHT. Finally! Wait! I HATE snow. But I don't care since I don't have to go to work. Muhahahaha.
*(Edit: Oh, dear readers. Caleb was not fat-shaming me, he was making a gentle joke. I weigh a massive ninety-four pounds and am always working to gain. It hardly works. And no, I don't need tips. I've tried them. I'm not a stress-eater, rather, the stress eats me.)
It was a good plan until Caleb knocked on the window and I dropped a fistful of cake all over my lap. What a waste. But secondary win, my car now smells like chocolate cake.
Eating sweets in secret usually means someone is cheating on their diet.*
What diet? I ask through a mouthful of cake.
He frowns. I don't understand how he managed to raise you with zero manners.
I have manners! I'm supposed to use them for important people.
He misses the burn completely, apparently distracted by the fact that it's three in the afternoon and no one's claimed my attention yet. They don't even know I'm home. Actually they might if they heard the car but sometimes they sit outside too, in their vehicles. I always thought they were probably listening to the end of a song or something but from now on I will assume they're also eating secret cake. That must be why Caleb is out here waiting. He's either the nutrition police or he's hoping I will share.
Well I won't and I'll go to jail if I must. Sugar is worth more than oxygen to me.
I agree to come over after dinner. I can stay up a little later, as I don't have to work tomorrow, and he's been great about not trying to monopolize my time. New Year's eve technically didn't exist except I did indeed wait up for Henry and then texted with Ruth around three in the morning and then I got up at five and went to work.
We did absolutely nothing. Loch dozed off. Ben only came upstairs at twelve ten to say Happy New Year and PJ never even made it past ten-thirty. New Jake was a no-show (he said he was on a phone call) and Matt and Sam didn't come over. I haven't seen them in days. So it was sort of a non-existent celebration in which we didn't celebrate but I did make a few resolutions. I gave up pop. Makes me have to pee, never makes me less thirsty, and is always far too sweet anyway. I rarely have it as it is. I'm going to treat myself to more water plus more hot drinks like tea or an afternoon hot chocolate instead (not too sweet since I put a half-teaspoon of mix in for a huge mug). No drugs and by that I mean I went off the shit the doctor put me on. I threw out all of the pills that make me miserable and I plan to keep advil and decongestants in my medicine drawer and the rest is going away. Part of the reason I always feel so tired and energy-less and nauseous is the endless cocktail of birth control (that isn't for preventing pregnancy, long story), sleeping pills, headache pills, cold pills, stomach pills, stress pills, depressing pills, fucking pills holy fucking jesus no more pills so there you go.
I'm just going to eat cake all the time instead. So far so good. Also, it's GOING TO SNOW TONIGHT. Finally! Wait! I HATE snow. But I don't care since I don't have to go to work. Muhahahaha.
*(Edit: Oh, dear readers. Caleb was not fat-shaming me, he was making a gentle joke. I weigh a massive ninety-four pounds and am always working to gain. It hardly works. And no, I don't need tips. I've tried them. I'm not a stress-eater, rather, the stress eats me.)