Solitary life

Cooking for one is such a bitch. You're continually asking yourself the question, do I really eat that little? and adding a little more, a little more to the pot, until you have enough food for a week.

Then that's all you eat, breakfast, lunch and dinner, except for breakfast you eat it with a kiwi.

It's economies of scale. When you have to go through the same time and effort to make a little, then why not make a lot instead? Then you don't waste any time the next day, or the next when you are stuck eating the same thing and the same thing.

Every day is exactly the same. No amount of beating my head against these four walls can change that.

Every day I get this strange feeling almost like the receptionist is trying to buy me off with imported chocolate bars and coffee and lunch and such. I think I'm just paranoid, but still. I've always had a hard time accepting gifts and anything that looks remotely like a handout, especially things for no reason so it puts me on edge all the time.

Anyways, today she decided that I needed a daytimer and some other cool, useful but completely unnecessary things, like a nifty government insignia clipboard that she picked out of a catalogue and charged to the government. Your tax dollars at work. Anyone else notice that their income tax went up recently? Mine did. Good job, Harper.

Oh well, these things will keep me organized and allow me to work on the train so they're good expenses, I guess. If I used government credit cards to, say, book a flight to Norway tomorrow, there'd be cause for concern.

But if you must know, I ordered a new stapler. Shoot me.

Something to add to my daytimer, when I get it:
I can't remember. That's why I have to write these things down.