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Blechhh.
kid
yodge
Okay, here's the thing. Just downstairs and across the street are lots and lots of coffee shops and food places and fast food joints. I can get food any time of day. I don't need to cook. Ever. All I need to do is walk downstairs and pay a couple bucks for a whole meal. Easy peasy.

I hate it.

I miss having to cook my own meals.

The thing is, this apartment has been basically empty the entire time I've been away except for a few weeks when my parents stayed in it. So the fridge has been relatively untouched since I left. The exact same half a tub of mango sherbet is still in the freezer from last August. The same bar of Aero chocolate was in the fridge. Same frozen Indian pratas in the freezer. Same bottle of caesar dressing.

I ate the chocolate and sherbet. Can't really think of what to do with the frozen fish. I cooked the frozen chicken. Yes, 6-month old chicken. (And it was probably a couple months old before that too.) So while I feel somewhat compelled to eat the leftover things in the fridge and pantry (2 cans of mushrooms, 2 cans of fish in black bean sauce and a can of Devonshire custard!) because once I leave in 2 weeks the place is gonna be empty for MONTHS, I'm also kinda disgusted with the stuff that I have to get rid of and can't really bring myself to consume it.

Gross gross gross gross gross.

Palpitations
play
yodge
There is something mad about Lincoln Brewster's new live album. That man has added such frenetic drumwork and a psychotic guitar solo to so many songs that I seriously am getting heart palpitations while listening.

And the slow songs made me stop everything I was doing and just listen.

But now my heart is going pum diddy pum pum to the mad bits.

Now that's good music.