Food is just pointless.

Sometimes I hate doing this job; this has nothing to do with the job itself but rather with the fact that my hands are able to work without my brain being involved.

I guess it's just and Angst Day for me. I've gone over all the beef with my parents in my head, and it all still stings, no matter how much time passes. Well, fuck it. I think I'll just take off at the end of the week- go on a walkabout or something. Maybe I'll wind up someplace more interesting than this.

In other news I saw a bagpiper on the subway yesterday. This wouldn't have been so memorable except that he wasn't busking around; just sitting there like everyone else, in full bagpipe livery with his pipes on his shoulder. Staring determinedly at an ad for a skin care clinic.

I'm home, by the way. Got in at eight something last night, in a foul, headachy mood from too much sugar and no real food. I blame this entirely on the fucktwat ticket lady, who took half an hour to get two tickets before she could take care of mine, and then went extra special slow, just for me! Thus, my 'go and get a slice of pizza' time went out the proverbial window.

So here I sit, updating, but unable to check my email cause Dad talked John into thinking that Hotmail is eeeevil and full of viiiiirusssssessss. (More angst.)

I think I'm going to the park for target practice tonight.

Oh, yes.

Food is just pointless.

Sometimes I hate doing this job; this has nothing to do with the job itself but rather with the fact that my hands are able to work without my brain being involved.

I guess it's just and Angst Day for me. I've gone over all the beef with my parents in my head, and it all still stings, no matter how much time passes. Well, fuck it. I think I'll just take off at the end of the week- go on a walkabout or something. Maybe I'll wind up someplace more interesting than this.

In other news I saw a bagpiper on the subway yesterday. This wouldn't have been so memorable except that he wasn't busking around; just sitting there like everyone else, in full bagpipe livery with his pipes on his shoulder. Staring determinedly at an ad for a skin care clinic.

I'm home, by the way. Got in at eight something last night, in a foul, headachy mood from too much sugar and no real food. I blame this entirely on the fucktwat ticket lady, who took half an hour to get two tickets before she could take care of mine, and then went extra special slow, just for me! Thus, my 'go and get a slice of pizza' time went out the proverbial window.

So here I sit, updating, but unable to check my email cause Dad talked John into thinking that Hotmail is eeeevil and full of viiiiirusssssessss. (More angst.)

I think I'm going to the park for target practice tonight.

Oh, yes.