Day Two: I've Got An Interview

Got up at 5.45 and went to see the Nice Lady, who suggests (and I paraphrase, of course), that I am very fucking pissed off about being ejected from my place of work, and am smearing my squished down Dark Thoughts all over those most dear to me. She may be right. I asked if lying on the sofa staring at the ceiling would be a good use of my time over the coming months. She said 'possibly'. I wanted to ask about staring out of the window, but didn't really think it was appropriate.

I've got an interview this afternoon. I don't really want to go. In fact, I don't really want to work. The day I knew I was related to my brother (definitely, the fact that we look very similar and both have similar facial and cranial tics aside) was the day he said "You know what the problem with work is? I fucking hate working."

I spent £103 in Waitrose on the way back. It was very exciting. Almost deserted apart from an immensely tall American who couldn't find the sausages, even though they were literally staring at him from the aisle. I stared at tinned sardines for at least 3 minutes, and chose two tins with pretty drawings of happy fish on. Not sure that I'll eat them, but nice to know they're there. I have also bought some more ingredients to try the Low GI Muffins again. I won't let Gallop break me. Oh no. I want cake that is not cake all the time, every day, forever.

Sigh.