Breakfast this morning was worryingly small. If breakfast is small, it usually means I get slammed with food at lunch and dinner. And given the fragility of my emotional state the past couple of days, this has my last nerve so frayed that the simplest little thing is liable to make me snap.

Isn’t that sad? That instead of enjoying a smaller meal, or taking my time to eat the food mindfully, my brain is preoccupied with the horrors of what it knows is liable to come bashing in the front door like Hagrid? Except that this is not a welcome visitor at all, nor does it carry a pink umbrella. It’s just awful.

So let’s break down what I had to get through this morning. There was an omelette with tomatoes, mushrooms, and peppers, a blueberry muffin that was woefully a bit undercooked, a peach Greek yogurt, a disturbingly cold and mushy Granny Smith apple, and coffee.

Thats it. And I’m nervous as all fucking hell about what that means for later.

Doom is surely knocking. I’ll check back in later.


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