Break

I need a break. I need a massage. I need someone to clean my room. Okay, enough with the wish list. Santa doesn't like it when I publish our correspondence. I'm running on adrenaline and junk, and I feel good. I've been pumping coke (the diet kind) into my system, along with regular infusions of frosted strawberry pop tarts and granola bars. When I gross myself out with the prepackaged crumbs, I give Dom a call, and he rushes to give me a pizza. He comes when I tell him to, so I've got no problem there. The only thing is that he actually has me pay for the pie. The nerve of that guy. He should pay me for the honor of allowing him to serve me food. Ah, well, the things I have to put up with to survive.

Today, I tried to be healthy, so I had blueberry-flavored oatmeal (the instant kind) for brunch. It tasted fine, except that there were bluberry pellets in there, so I didn't finish it all. And then I didn't feel like washing the bowl, so I stuck it in the fridge, spoon included. It's purple paste now. Yuck. Time to get another bowl and spoon. The oatmeal didn't even fill me up. During the test a while ago (two down and two more to go!), my stomach was growling so loudly that it sounded like a bear. I wanted to laugh, because I found the sounds funny, but the Crim test kept me somber.

I'm sure I'll be really somber tomorrow, come to that. What a nasty thought. I don't feel like writing anymore. Break's over.