Food

I hate food. OK? I loathe it. It causes me such misery. But I keep going back for more. I'm not sure why. Today I decided to go get Chinese food from this charming little establishment that has really tasty stuff. I got it and drove off a ways when I remembered that I didn't ask for gallons of soy sauce. "I must have soy sauce!" I looked and only had two measly packets in my bag. I knew it wasn't enough, but I was too lazy to turn around and get some. I'd figure out something. Well, I did. I tried the chicken with the sweet and sour sauce (thankfully the guy misheard me when I said, "No sweet and sour sauce.") It wasn't bad...it was almost good. Some of the time. Somehow I used one packet on half of my rice and satisfactorily covered two egg rolls. I still have one packet left and half of my rice.

I'm having leftovers for dinner. I have so many. I have the rice, some twice baked potatoes, some pizza from last night (which I probably won't choose), some brisket, and some BBQ beef. I'm feeling nauseous just thinking about it, but in a few hours I'll be OK to go.

I also don't like clothes. More specifically, I don't like wearing them. I know I'm running dangerous ground with oversharing, but I don't want to wear them. I don't mind owning them...They're nice to look at.

I'd also go barefoot everyday if I could.

Why am I just sitting here complaining? I have no idea. I don't like that about myself. I've decided that I don't like myself and I want to change. I'm not happy with the way things are going, so I must do something to remedy this. I know I said that being happy all the time isn't "normal," but I also think that a person needs to make their own luck.

Anyway, that's where I am.