It's confirmed: I curse too much. I am fully aware of it, and I show absolutely no signs of stopping or giving a... well, you know.
I led another day of work training today. You should honestly pity my trainee; I am not a good teacher. However, I do tell wildly inappropriate jokes, so I like to think that makes up for it. I am still waiting for the inevitable call from HR, but I've successfully dodged them for over a decade now—minus my ADA paperwork—so I like my odds.
I am still exhausted after our trip to see the tire exhibit in the river. Get it? Tired and tire. Look, if you don't like bad jokes, you are definitely in the wrong place.
I think I finally figured out what has been making me sick. It wasn't the artificial sweetener, the lettuce, or the sheer horror of talking to other people. I think Red 40 food dye is the culprit. It has been in all of my drinks lately—including my coveted slushies—and I feel a bit lost now. I did the right thing and gave my brother a bag full of all the water flavorings that contain it. We will see if this colon incompatibility is inherited or not this way. Does that make me evil if I don't tell him I figured out that it's the dye and just wait to see if it recruits him into the Rectal Rocketry club?
On a completely unrelated note, my uncontrollable hunger is back. I don't know if this is a side effect of my recent HRT changes, my antidepressant, or just my deep-rooted addiction to junk food. I don't normally keep easy-to-eat food in the house to prevent constant grazing, but I bought enough food for 20 trips with my brother on Wednesday. He didn't take any of it. Do you think I needed three kinds of chips and two packages of cookies for a single lunch? The chips are still here waiting to plug my arteries. And the cookies are daring me to consume them. They are literally chanting in my head: "Eat me, you know you want to. Just one more, we are amazing. If you eat us, we will be together forever. We can fill that void left by your parents." Things are getting weird here and kind of personal.
So, another rambling, unintelligible post complete. And you, once again, read the whole thing. I am going to stop suggesting therapy for your unhealthy habit of listening to me.
Or reading? What is the correct term here? I hear the voice in my head dictating this. Do you hear the voice when you are reading it? Does it tell you to eat another cookie? Because mine is.
