chapter 8:
maybe this time
go home

“Man up or suck it up, Danger. Commit to something or stop your maudlin pity party. You can make your choice or you can have it taken away from you again.” - Three Years with the Rat - Jay Hosking

Dear Lydia,

How's it going? What've you been up to---watched anything interesting lately? There's a new season of Umbrella Academy coming out this week. I think I might hate-watch it. I hope you took my word and never bothered with watching season 3; you have too many better things to do with your time.

I'm telling myself I want to turn things around. I'm telling myself I'm not happy with my choices. I binged last night. I didn't feel anything. I was craving a loss of control---like with the gacha---and I couldn't mimic it. What else do I get out of binging? Variety. I crave variety in my food. Most of my food is stuff I prep, and any meal turns into five meals. I get bored.

I'm worried about my ability to manage my time in the fall. I'm worried I am biting off more than I can chew. As flippant as I am, the potential courseload does weigh down on me. 12-15 credits, 12 credits of upper-level math. Two of these classes are grad classes. I can find the time to do well, but will I? I need to spend the next few weeks test-running my fall schedule. However, I don't know if my proposal has been approved. Why make progress if there's nothing to make progress on?

I'm fed up with my classes. I'm temporarily tired of school. I don't care enough. I'm skipping an assignment; my grade will drop from a 128% to a 122%. I can't bring myself to care. Tomorrow, I will do grocery shopping in the morning. I will spend the rest of the day knocking out work for this class and taking care of meal prep.

I whine about daydreaming too much. When I think about what I'm daydreaming about, it seems like I'm only running through every possible scenario. Some of these scenarios are a bit more of a fantasy than others. Some of these are idealistic indulgence. Wishful thinking? I get caught up in these scenarios. I'm talking to a fictionalized version of a real person, and then I'm responding aloud. I behave as if I am in conversation with them. This is not okay. My problem is interfering with my life. I'm trying to limit the hours I'm allowed to spend on wasteful dreaming. I prefer my thinking to be mindful; I need to remember this.

I didn't mean to put off writing to you as long as I have. I may be busier than I think I am, and I may be spending more time poorly than I think I do. Monday was spent on groceries and school; Tuesday was spent on meal prep and work. Wednesday will be spent on work and school. I'm trying to figure out how I'll meal prep for the fall semester. I registered for an accounting class (8am). As long as I knock out my senior project before the fall semester starts, I'll be fine. I want to make a tray of egg bites; how do they taste, how long would they last for. I'd do one batch of egg/tomato/cheese. I'd do another batch of egg/meat/coriander/fish sauce/etc (Thai style, really).

Speaking of Thai food: remember that Thai cookbook I was raving about? You need to pick it up from the library. Everything I've tried has been good. I made these coconut macaroons this morning, and I can't stop eating them. The sticky rice flour (I think that's what they use in mochidonuts) has this awesome, chewy texture. I also love coconut, so there's that. I wonder if I could modify this filling to make a granola bar?

The thought of buying so much food for meal prep stresses me out. Do I even have enough space? Once my fridge runs low, we'll see. This week's meal prep is great, though. Holy basil tastes amazing---there's a bit of a mint flavor, and it has a nice kick to it.

— seemed to like the spicy pork dish. He picked up on the galanga; not sure why he was asking how I knew how to cook it. Despite cooking it yesterday morning, I already forgot what I put in it / how I cooked it. He just had to add more fish sauce. Mixing two kinds of fish sauce together seems wrong...but I digress. He also thought the coconut macaroons were too much coconut, not enough cookie. That's the recipe, mind you, but I think he's right. We'll see what I bake this week/next week. I wonder how mixing coconut flour and sticky rice flour together would go.

Had a chicken teriyaki spam dish today. Slightly sweet, slightly tangy, — added fried onions and scallions to it. — said he'd eat half of it, and we were terrified until he clarified he'd eat half of a slice. Verdict: I need to start frying spam with a CT sauce. The salt just might solve my problems. (This was my first time eating spam. I'm surprised by how much I liked it).

But I'm getting distracted by food. What a surprise! NOT. I'm trying to have better eating habits. I'm struggling with the way my appetite fluctuates. Then again, my eating habits have always been all over the place. I don't know if I'll ever be able to eat like a normal person. As I'm writing this, I'm fighting the urge to eat. You just had a bowl of yogurt, my brain claims. You've had enough for the day. Yet what have I had---yogurt, a slice of spam, some tiny cookies? I think I had some sausages this morning. I start to count the calories and know I haven't had enough. I'm craving the holy basil stir fry, but denying myself the right to eat it. There's still a thrill to denying myself food. I should go eat. I'm hungry, and I say I'm trying to do better, and I'm writing to you. You'll yell at me if I don't eat. No, you won't yell---you'll be disappointed.

(There's sauce on the page. You smell it.)

I need to prep more of this for the fall. That and dumplings...ANYWAYS.

In Kitchen Confidential, the author wrote about hands that show their owner's trade. I've accumulated a collection of cuts. There's a scar where I cut myself on a mandolin (from about a month ago). Third-pans slice my hands on a regular basis. Fryer oil has given my hands and arms a few blemishes. Fryer oil ends up on my legs on a regular basis, but I don't see any marks from that. I was on my knees, cleaning, earlier; there is still some black grime (grease???) on my legs. I'm fascinated by my minor injuries---the burns from the degreaser (whoops) are gone.

I was distracted by cooking videos. It's almost midnight. I'm telling myself I need to have a better sleep schedule; I want to fall asleep at midnight. I want/need to move my sleep schedule back to 11pm; I'd go earlier, but I expect to spend time closing in the fall. I'd like some semblance of a consistent sleep schedule _regardless_ of whether or not I'm closing.

This entry was supposed to chronicle my goals / upcoming plans. Turning over a new leaf, trying to do better, etcetera. Yet I'm still browsing —, still daydreaming too much, not knocking out the tasks I want to knock out, being distracted by the same things. How much time must I spend browsing take-out menus? I don't go to these places. I worry I'll make a mistake. I'm worried something will be awkward. There's a soup that looks good; I'll never go and order it. There's a duck sandwich; I'll never go order it. Then again, I walk by this place on a regular basis, and I've gone to buy their baked goods. Okay. I'm going to turn off the computer and go to bed.

With love,
Nobody.

I worry for you
You worry for me
"Halloween," Noah Kahan

—,

When all that's left are emotions, I wonder why I bothered.

I keep thinking about rec'ing Spadework for a Palace, by László Krasznahorkai. Stream-of-consciousness. I don't like it, so you probably would. I've both too many things to say to you and nothing at all. Contradictory, I know. You don't get it. What's the bet you call me a retarded alien cunt and jerk off to your perceived superiority?

I hate the way you cut me out. As if I'm just a mistake you can hit undo on.

Maybe in a few months we'll have something to talk about. Yeah right.

The worst part is that if you contacted me, I'd do it all again. Except that—

Oh, why bother. You'd rather be dead by now. Unless you already are. I was never certain if you were born in August or September; I'd once thought early August, but I'm probably wrong.

It's 8am and I'm already crying. (Gently, mind you. Not sobbing.)

Whoop-de-fucking-do.

"Am I dying in reality? / Who can tell?" - Is it Alright For You - Isak Danielson

Lydia,

Another book?! Hell yeah, I will. Send whatever you've written. I'll refrain sending edits until you've written "the end." Don't worry, love, I won't hold back.

I'm caught in a constant cycle of making messes and cleaning them up. Where does this shit come from. Cooking, baking, living. I'm going to switch to baking once a week. I'm going to do enough meal prep to last a week. I think I succeeded on that this week. I just need to get used to eating the same few dishes for a week. I always get tired of whatever curry/soup/etc I make. I think I have enough food to save the last container of this for another week. I have two soups I want to make next week. One is with lotus seeds. Those are going to be pricy, but I already have a chunk of beef (for the same soup).

I think I can freeze two weeks of food at a time. I'll keep yogurt in the fridge; I'll buy some canned fruit. Fridge/freezer space is of utmost importance. I'll keep tofu on hand; it's cheap, and a little bit can turn one serving of meat into two (or half a serving into a whole one). I suspect my meals are going to turn into a cycle of eggs (I'm going to freeze egg bites), yogurt & fruit, and a meat dish. If I need more food, it'll be something I baked.

I made a coconut pandan cake. I'm not sure if I should bring it in. It's not bad, but it's missing something. I used 50g of stevia blend, instead of the 110g the recipe called for. I think that was too little. I have time to decide.

(I'm listening to an album by The Black Heart Procession. Very nice. Slightly melancholy, but the rhythms move forward.)

Where else does this mess come from? There are clothes I left out to dry overnight; it's mid-day. I'll put them away before I leave. There are dishes I need to wash. There's the book I was reading. There's the pens I was using. Clutter from daily life. I'll straighten it up, and I'll get it out again.

Payday! Unclear if I hit over-time last week---one person said I'd hit it at a 40hr week, another said a 10hr shift would have done it (that is, 2hr of overtime).

They're hiring three new cooks, which'll bring us up to nine(?) cooks. I think only two of us are full-time. I've seen two cooks leave in the time I've been here. I do wonder if we're going to be losing a cook...but I digress.

Gotta go,

Nobody.

“Asle thinks, and he thinks that thought again and again, it’s the only thought he can think” - The Other Name - Jon Fosse trans. Damion Searls

Dear Lydia,

You know something's wrong when I don't resist. Like last week, when — told me to put down the dishes and leave. Or last night, when — said he'd drive me home and I agreed. Those thugs were around last night. One of my male coworkers made light of it---all "hey, I have permission (from —) to punch." Good for you, hon, but I'm the female walking alone at night. Three guys to one gal (and these three are NOT hands off) does not pan out well. I have pepper gel, but I think I'm going to start carrying around scissors. They aren't much,

THE LETTER ENDS HERE.

Dear Lydia,

I wasn't happy with the end of Exploding Kittens either. On the other hand, what else could you expect of a show by people who made a card game named Exploding Kittens? (Or Throw Throw Burrito, at that). It's weird. The plotline---them fucking, I mean---was predictable and forced. The children part is another matter. I wouldn't care if there wasn't a season two. If there was, though, I'd watch it out of curiosity. You dig?

I got the pages yesterday. They sound like gobbledygook. I hope they make sense soon! Just---you're juggling a lot of weirdness. It's a lot for this reader to try and keep up with. Some of it is too obvious. Of course Kimberly and Ylrebmik are mirror-selves. And the two planet bullshit IS bullshit. You're trying to cover your ass and failing miserably. (Don't take it the wrong way. I know I'm missing most of the story.)

Anywho, back to ~me~.

Yesterday, I started scrubbing the basement floors. They didn't need me in the kitchen. If — is on, both of us get things done; he's been here for ?? years, yada yada I don't care if I spend most of our shift cleaning. But I'm 'support' staff for everyone else. I don't get to be in the kitchen. I get to be the dishwasher/janitor who comes out to cover people's asses. Luck allows me to cover asses effectively. I don't get to practice. I make dumb mistakes; the only reason I'm not getting yelled at is because of all the other work I do. I'm going to try to get to work fryer on Friday and Saturday. I was venting about this yesterday, but my plan is to get other people to do my dirty work so I can spend time in the kitchen. Will this work? We shall see...

I was mad about this because I feel so unnecessary. I'm making mistakes---am I making more mistakes than usual, or are more of my mistakes being caught? I'm not sure which is worse. I need to learn how to develop a better sense of smell. I'm also going to review my notes from when I first started. I'll do what I can to do better. That's all I can do.

Love,

Nobody.

PS: season 4 of The Umbrella Academy was pretty decent. Skip the rest of season 3---it's treated like it was all a dream, more or less---and give it a go if you're bored. The ending did catch me off guard.

C,

I binged today, so I'm going to fast tomorrow. When grocery shopping, I took care of groceries for the rest of the month. I wanted to buy some goodies, so I bought sugar-free Klondike bars and store-brand oatmeal raisin cookies. I thought these could be treats for the rest of the month. Wrong. I inhaled the cookies and Klondike bars. I could have stopped myself, but I didn't feel like doing so. I wanted to hurt and I wanted the food to disappear. I combined these two ideas.

Well. It hurt, and the food is gone. $5.50 of faux food down the drain. From here on out, I'll let canned fruit be equivalent to snacks. This isn't perfect—especially if the fruit is in syrup—but it is better. Better is what I'm aiming for.

I was thinking about how it's time to relapse. Back to being a self-obsessed bitch who counts calories and nutrients like there's no tomorrow. I keep saying I'm trying to do better. I shouldn't let myself do that again. I can't do this again either. To make things worse, one coworker commented on my eating—shouldn't eat in view of customers (even though everybody else does?)—so now I feel like I shouldn't eat in the kitchen. Back to two meals a day, time dependent on when working. A good one before work. Another after. Fast on off days (until school starts?). Ignore everything from Fast Like a Girl. Do I need to ask what you think, or how you're doing? You were never one for pleasantries. I see what you post anyhow. I dunno. Whatever we do, let's do it together, alright?

Devil, we're screwed,
Nobody.

"I'm lost inside and no longer convinced there's a way out."House of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski

call it maladaptive.

C,

I've been eating a lot. My dinner was a serving of stew and 2/3 of a two-pound yogurt container. I am going back to two meals a day; maybe this is why I ate so much? I was stuffed. I'm going to see where this goes. I can't let my emotions control my eating; that's all. Remember this.

Let's be better,

Nobody.

Lydia,

You'll never guess how busy today was. There was an order with six of the same dish, and then they wanted a few other meals, and some other fryer shit. We had a great lunch rush. One of the best days I've had in a long time! We were busy from the moment I came in; I didn't have time to check everything before I started working. Yet I still found time to be bored at the end of the day. I should've cut more salad. Hopefully they catch it in the morning? I should've cut two containers instead of just one. I'm sure they'll live without me.

Didn't think twice before ordering out; tipped the change. I think the time I've spent in the kitchen has made me think about tipping differently. I can hear the people in this kitchen talking to each other. Makes it sound like it's usually slow? Or this time of night is usually slow. Oh. They close in half an hour; that's why. Now I feel a little bad. I'm so annoyed with customers who come in during the last half hour. Especially the people who place large orders ten minutes before close. Those are the people I'd like to kill. Those tickets? Damn people who make me bring up dishes I'd already brought back.

Someone almost locked me in the basement. This is entirely in character for him. He was serious. I couldn't help but laugh. Some people are so predictable. The new cook is still slow. He whistles—I want to slap that carefree attitude out of him. Eh. We'll see how this goes. We need another competent cook. Unfortunately, I'll cut the work gossip out of here. I've been out for half an hour. It's time to stop.

Tomorrow, I WILL work on my thesis. I'll tell you how it goes. I'll tell you what I've learned, and what I've done, and all of this will be fine again.

Is this a family business? It feels that way. The FoH lady said "mom" to BoH; almost sounds like there's only two people back there (...as if that's abnormal for us. But I get it). And they're sending out food delivery orders. At least the wait time was accurate. I should've said I'd take it cold? I'm thinking about the way my coworkers order our food. Being a customer after so long

[???]

I was interrupted. Dinner was a red curry noodle (aka kowpoon(?), with a smiley face) soup. The broth was rich; the lemongrass and galangal complimented each other (I can never get the proportions right). The noodles were chewy. The lime added that extra something. I'm not a fan of bean sprouts, but I see how they helped the texture of the dish. There were also a few leaves of mint. I appreciate how balanced the dish was. The mix of ground meat, vegetables, and noodles added a variety of textures. The fish sauce wasn't too strong. There were a lot of flavors, but they worked together. The broth was medium-spicy, and the bites of Thai chilis intermittently amped up the spice level. I'm taking notes—how can you tell?

I stopped by an Asian bakery and picked up a chicken teriyaki bun, thinking the bread would be a good way to eat the excess broth. I was right. The sweetness of the CT worked with the spiciness of the curry. It was another layer of flavor that worked. I'm definitely going to this take-out place again. They do Thai and Lao food; given Thai is what I'm currently cooking, this is good for research. Maybe I'll call to place an order next time.

The melatonin is kicking in. Good night,

Nobody.

—

You list your sins—an interesting choice. I don't think I've seen a site doing that before. Do you have plans to remedy your flaws? If I may offer one crumb—not being motivated is only a flaw if it gives way to laziness. Motivation is an emotion, not an action. People need to be able to crawl forward while being unmotivated; it's the one way to make constant progress.

Fans of games are dedicated. Case in point: the beloved Dogra Magra translator (courtesy of the game Alter Ego) thinks he(?) will complete the translation by graduation. Two years of work. He's in his final year of college; sending him best wishes. And you said fandom never amounted to anything worthwhile.

The best cleaning tools are steel wool and chisels.

Read anything interesting lately?

Ciao for now,

It's a problem.

Lydia,

She sounds like an arse. Have a conversation first—don't yell!—and hope she understands. I'd not risk losing the nice housing over that, y'know? Study at the library. Ours is open all summer. I forgot your classes started next week. You've spent so much time writing; I start to forget you're a student. Speaking of—new pages? Offending you was not my intention.

I'd been writing ab

[cut off]

I don't remember where I was going with that. I spent my morning killing flies. I killed a dozen on Wednesday and a few dozen more today. Does my roommate notice them? There were a few flies buzzing around when I saw him yesterday. He stood there and ignored them. Why wasn't he killing them? I've cleaned up his (literal) shit. I've cleaned up the messes he leaves on the stovetop. He doesn't take out the trash or empty the dish drain. He leaves his dishes in the sink for days—v. obnoxious when I have to take the casserole dish out of the sink. ARGH. He lets meat rot, and tosses it in the trash can.

Enough of that.

I don't need to go grocery shopping this weekend! I may pick up some eggs, fish sauce, and produce. My freezer is still stocked. I want to limit myself to what I have. I may go out for a meal or two in the next week with family. Knowing them, this will not happen, but I can hope.

Lydia, darling,

Guess who read a paper?! I don't understand most of it, but it has information I can use. I need to look up 'fractional chromatic numbers' when I'm on wifi again. There's an inequality relating the fractional chromatic number of a graph to the sum of the squares of the eigenvalues of a graph. Hooray...?

Well. Progress is progress. It cites a few other papers that I'll look up later. I just need examples of eigenvalues and graphs and whatnot. Aaaaand then I'll be done. See, it's straight forward, I just need to get it done.

Decided to go out for coffee. I got a blue matcha latte. It wasn't as bitter or grassy as matcha tends to be. It's not sweet either. Whatever it was did a good job at balancing out the lavender---I rarely appreciate that floral flavor, but it worked well. Also: IT WAS BLUE. They had a good croissant. Oversized, buttery, and everything a croissant should be. (Self: this is the small downtown place with outdoor seating; had construction work outside)

I've spent most of the morning looking at local restaurants. My parents decided to visit---yay!---but we needed a place that had crab rangoons (for my 5 y/o picky eater of a brother). We decided on one place. Then, as I was walking downtown, I saw that they were actually closed today. (This is atypicaly; they're usually open on Saturday). Okay, talk some more, found a second place. They look kid friendly. Then, we realize they don't have crab rangoons! More speaking...find a place. It's Cambodian. They do, however, have crab rangoons. Then we realize it's ten minutes away. Talk some more. Decide on a Vietnamese place just around the corner. I haven't gone before, so I'm looking forward to it. WOn't be as good as the other places I was looking at (I really wanted Thai), but that's fine. I'm going to go back to the Thai place I ordered from anyways.

Okay. Time to decide what I want for lunch!

Love,

Nobody.

Lydia,

You don't exist. I try to treat you like a person; I try to give you a backstory. I don't care enough about you to maintain the facade. C, on the other hand, I care about. C (she? he?) is a mirror-image of my bad habits. You're a blank slate. You're irrelevent.

I wonder if writing to fictional characters (a la fanfiction) would make me feel more invested.

Would you like to hear about my day? I went to a coffee shop and had blue matcha. The taste is gentle, slightly floral, and slightly earthy. It isn't sweet, but it is when compared to green matcha. The coffee shop added lavender to it; this brought out the floral flavor. I enjoyed every last drop of it.

I'm forgetting what I already told you. I knew incomplete letters were a bad idea! Yet it's been twelve hours since I last wrote. If you were anyone else, you would have broken up with me by now.

I know that going to places to study makes my life easier. Especially when I can do my work offline. I'm going to drag myself to go places and work on my research. I need to complete this before school starts. I should have gotten started last week, but that is irrelevant. Better late than never. I have a list of local places I want to visit. I'm going to see how many I can cycle through.

Reflections on bullet journaling.

Professor appointed as faculty fellow for AI in pedagogy.

I think everyone should try it out.

What a dystopian sentence. AI helping professors teach? Are professors not competent enough to teach on their own---no, that's the wrong question. People can't agree on what learning to use AI entails. What is AI being used for, and what is the goal? Using AI to create art---be it visual, audio, written, etc.---is unethical because you are using AI to create something that is defined by humanity. I am going in circles.

What does AI have to offer education that education can't already provide? Shortcuts that miss the point of education?

I am so tired of writing this. I hear about AI use and am instinctively outraged. Why bother to formulate my thoughts or create coherent arguments? It's as if I take AI too personally to talk about it. I feel like AI is a parasite that my classmates have latched on to. If I weren't in school, I wouldn't spend so much time thinking about it. I am in school. I am constantly surrounded by mentions of it. My classmates, professors, and school portray AI in a positive light. I want it to end.

Really, I'm just saying I want everybody to shut up and agree with me already. There is a nuanced discussion that can be had, but that nuance does not apply to the average member of the public.

watching sims interact

I've spent [too many hours, probably] people watching (and working on my thesis, but who cares about that?). Setting the setting...eh. Fuck me, I'm tired and READY TO WRITE. Let me make myself laugh.

There are/were two sketchy people wandering the block. I should know, I've been watching them for [REDACTED] hours. They're both wearing blue shirts and camo pants. I've seen one of them in the parking lot near my house; multiple interactions where he catcalls me. In the early morning, he tends to be hanging out around a convenience store that sells alcohol. Sketchy. Dude is not alright in the head.

While these two have been circling the block, they have been walking on separate sides of the street. They did not interact for several hours. At one point, NPC2 gained a small black plastic bag. He held onto this for an hour or two. Both NPC1 and NPC2 were not sighted for another half hour. Hooray . . ?

Around 1715, a coworker went on break and sat down with me. We chit-chatted, people watched, and then---dramatic pause---NPC2 crossed the street and approached NPC1. NPC1 took the bag from NPC2; he proceeded to hand over two cans, alcohol?, and held on to the rest of the bag. They began walking in opposite directions. Then NPC1 turned around and followed NPC2. Another period of time later, NPC1 returns and crosses the street. He has not been sighted since. We believed we were free!

NPC2 has now been sighted nearby. He was first seen in the alley, and then was walking down the sidewalk. This was half an hour ago. He has not been seen since.

My coworker said this was like watching Sims playthroughs. We were, she put it, watching NPCs interact. This explains why they stay in the same area. NPCs do the same thing over and over again. They are not right in the head because they have no head; only pre-determined dialogue and interactions. They may attempt to approach local players. Were these the same people from two weeks ago...? I didn't pay much attention to their appearances. I don't think so, since these two appeared to be nonviolent. Run of the mill creeps.

I'm making myself laugh. There was rain. Maybe one of the NPCs died in it...they wouldn't be missed. Then again, if they can be revived---can NPCs die? In Undertale they could. Or do they just live on forever, robots cursed to screw us. Wow. I should not have had that caffeine---matcha with a shot of espresso sounded like a good idea, interesting flavor-wise, I think the espresso drowned out the matcha.

I've now had two drinks (matcha, then bubble tea)...how much sugar is in these? I can feel something. Or this is anxiety talking. I've been here for long enough to feel like I've overstayed my welcome. However, someone who's closing asked me to stick around. Well, I said I'm leaving, she said stay, so. Decision made. I am an emotional support person. Animal. Ticket, lol. I think I'm getting loopy. I should leave. If I go home, I have to start prepping pastes and meat...it's probably too late at night to pound away with my mortar and pestle. This is fine with me. I can marinate meats overnight. Or i'll just say fuck it, y'all be noisy anyways, and pound the life out of that garlic. Why do I do this to myself. I should hop on the wifi and complete those other entries. Nah...let's have a wifi free place. Just one. I won't be able to come here for fun much longer anyways. School will be back in session.

What shall I do. What happened this weekend, or did I already write about it? Today is Monday. Today has been a long Monday. I have spent enough time reading about math to recognize the words. I start to think I understand things. Do I? I think I'm trapped in some endless cycle of---well, who knows what. I read the papers, I look up things I don't understand, I reread papers, I write things down and break down things. I could include a picture of my notes. I'll copy down an equation (typically it's an inequality), and then I'll make note of what each part of the equation means. I'll write "hey, this reminds me of this." And then I move on.

Why am I doing this.

— didn't say what field she switched from; just that she wanted to switch to engineering, but they wouldn't let her---perhaps they were protecting her from the horrors of their courseload---and now she's starting over in psychology. We're both doing 18 credits this fall. We've said we'll try to meet up; once I know what my work schedule looks like, we'll try to set a recurring time. I think that's the closest thing to a social life I've ever said? I'm realizing how strange it is for me. Oh, wait, I did something like that before, except online with a recurring time every single day, after writing to this person for most of the rest of the day. That's what it felt like. At least this person and I have schedules, and we're busy people who will support each other in not dying this semester. Wow, it's cold in here. Why am I playing emotional support animal? There's always that last bit of a drink that you can't reach. The grass jelly is nice. Mmm, I could just go home and go to bed...NOPE. Cutting the meat will feel satisfying. I think the remnants of caffeine are making me tired. Ramble ramble ramble---CUT!

Each paper leads to more papers. I can't find all of them online (legally and not). I'll need to put holds on physical copies of them, if physical copies can be found. Each will add a single sentence to the paper. At least my works cited won't be lacking.

Okay. Time to get a move on. Math...start!

Lydia,

Another day has gone by. I had a coconut smoothie for breakfast, and then I worked on my research for a few hours. I was not on wifi during this time. Tomorrow, I'm going to be on wifi. I'll look up the unfamiliar terms, make a vocab/notation cheat sheet, and start going through my latest list of things to look into. I need to make a timeline. Going to need to do a better job at organizing my research. Realizing how hefty the paper needs to be; gotta be worth the three credits! Maybe I write it before I understand it. Spitballing ideas.

I wanted to see if I could fall asleep without melatonin. It's 1:30. Argh. I should be tired. I want a consistent sleep schedule, but I don't want to rely on melatonin gummies.

Bought a book on intuitive witchcraft and the wheel of the year. Reading-wise, this was a good choice; devoured it in the afternoon and got a few new ideas.

There are more things to write. I need to be at my computer to write them.

Hoping to sleep now,

Nobody.

I'm losing time. I'm struggling to keep up. I'm running full speed ahead; it isn't enough. I worry I'm heading for a burnout. Fall semester starts in a week. There's so much to say and do and I'm struggling to keep up with myself. Where do I want to start? I can't remember what I have and have not written; what's said here and what was said elsewhere; which entries I copy-paste from notes I've already written. I'm losing it. I haven't lost it. I'm losing it.

Food. I've been cooking a pork loin; 10lb with other ingredients will give me two weeks of food. I did this earlier this week. Someone suggested I get pork butt next time; cheaper and better taste. That is, it adds flavor, while pork loin is just a cheap thing nobody wants. I make it taste good---I gave — one of the soups I made with it, and he said he really liked it. Everybody but me appreciates my cooking. I'm so used to the food I cook; so tired of it. It's fine for a night, and then I stop caring.

I made another round of dumplings. My coworkers loved this version. The onions added texture and balanced out the coriander. I was told they were "restaraunt quality"; high praise? I was neutral, and then I ate one and thought "hey, this is actually pretty good." The batch with holy basil was fucking awesome. I need to use holy basil more often. It makes everything better. Except it doesn't freeze well, and the dishes I use it in take too much time. I can't do nightly stir-fry. I can barely do one a week. I'm doing another round of pig heart sometime in the next week; the stir-fry calls for shrimp, I thought the shrimp was for a soup so I bought fish balls, then I get home and realize the shrimp was for a soup. What a dent. I'll sub pig heart for shrimp. The flavor is different. Hopefully it works with bamboo shoots—I haven't had bamboo shoots before. I was able to buy fresh ones. We'll see.

I've been experimenting with using coconut flour and sticky rice flour. I'll upload my recipes here at some point (complete with notes); I think I'm learning something from it. Note...need to buy more eggs and sticky rice flour soon. I'm good on coconut flour. How about rice flour? I'm going to think on this. I like realizing that there aren't that many ways to screw up a recipe. I'm playing around. Sure, the quality varies, but nothing meets the trash can. I've made some cakes that don't taste like they're gluten-free. The key is to understand what each flour brings to a dish---that is, the texture! The taste! What other cakes can I make. Nothing with nuts, since I like bringing things in for my coworkers. Nothing with apples, since I want to be able to eat it. I'll see what's on sale this week.

I keep using coconut flakes to add texture to the cakes. I'd like to figure out other options. Thinking...

Time to head out for work. I'll try to finish this tonight, and then I'll try to update my site tonight. Hoping all goes well. Farewell, Nobody..

Lydia,ok

I incidentally betrayed a coworker. I can't help it if our boss and I share opinions, but he's the first to state the opinion. I'm making her apology cookies. She does have a few justified issues with him; idk I kinda want a way to tell her that I support her overall, even if we disagree on minor things. o

Yesterday, I went back to my workplace after my shift ended. I got a drink and chipped away at my thesis. Then my boss and I chatted for ??? maybe too long. Every statement turned into a tangent. Having verbal conversations is strange. Especially conversations about things. On the other hand, he stopped me from Death by Graph Theory (TM). 50/50 I'll go and get dinner from there tomorrow night.

I'm sitting at an ice cream place / bakery. They use the same POS service we use, and I can see thei orders from here. There's two massive online orders they're working through. I feel like I've been waiting a while, and I have, but they have a tilodo list to match the wait time. I also picked up a chinese sausage bun, and taro bun, from a different bakery. I need to check the Asian market for Chinese sausages; the Thai cookbook was raving about them. They do have Cambodian sausages. I'll look up the ingredients later.

later: taste-wise, the sundae (caramel brownie) was worth the price. It also left me feeling like shit. At a grocery store, I'd hesitate to buy a $5 gallon of ice cream, yet I don't think twice about forking over $10 for a sundae. They make their own ice cream. I think there's a perceived difference in value. I'm paying for the good and the experience. There's delight in eating that sundae that I couldn't find in anything from the grocery store. Local trumps name brand? Better quality ingredients, less processed crap? The brownie tasted like a brownie, and not like a thing that was supposed to taste like a brownie.

A dream:

— a coworker spoke to me about nearby weirdos. He was muttering and said it was fine if I didn't show up to work.

— I realized a coworker lived next door to me. I saw her and her mother yelling at each other. Her mother assumed she's 13. She wasn't.

— all of the houses were sides of a hexagon. There were two entrances per side. They're all yellow-orange.

— some agent was letting people view houses. There was a little girl in my room who wanted to see ghosts. I told her the house was haunted. She was excited.

— I was peaking through the windows and frantically trying to close the blinds. Some old people were talking to each other.

Dear Lydia,

Personal safety concerns. The weirdos outside my workplace are back—sounds like there was a violent encounter that should have scared them off. I came home to some guys digging through my trash cans. I have now lost a trash can. Very unsettling. Some other people rendezvoused in my driveway later in the night. One of them was picked up by a car. The other person walked away. Neither of these people live here. A catcaller who I've repeatedly encountered now knows where I live. I wanted to go downtown today, but now I'm thinking twice about it.

Got to see the food truck and hear a little bit about how it's run vs. the kitchen. I am impressed? Listening to my boss talk about my coworkers is strange. He said he might bring me on next summer...partially for a change of pace. So that's that. Heard about how the kitchen has had better days. I wish I could see that—how much prep they used to get to do is impressive. Nowadays, meh. I like getting to do more prep work. I've assisted in cutting enough beef to fill a 22qt container twice this week.

complaint: I felt like grabbing a matcha brownie. I placed the order at the counter. Usually, they just grab one and hand it to me. I have been waiting for ten minutes. TEN. Fucking hell, I've gotten drinks from here when it was busy, and it still took less time than this. I have things to do. I might need to leave without my order. Why did I instinctively tip. I want the tip back. I want my money back. What a waste.

Update from later—after twenty-five minutes, I decided to ask about my order. After the cashier located the ticket, she was able to grab the baked goods from the case and give them to me. It took her thirty seconds. She couldn't even be bothered to apologize for the wait time. Fucking hell. This has been weighing on me all day. I keep running through different versions of what could have happened; rewriting history out of habit.

"Hey, I don't mean to be rude, but I was wondering if I could get a refund? The order was for MyName. I get that you're probably behind on tickets (she says while interrupting their chit-chat; the three of them were standing around doing nothing), but I really need to be getting a move on. I thought the wait time would be as quick, since it's usually instantaneous, but I've been waiting for 20 minutes and don't have more time to waste."

"Hi, I don't mean to sound like a bitch, but I was wondering if I could get the wait time for my order? I've been waiting 20min, and could have run another errand in that time, so I just want to know how much longer it's going to be so I can figure out if I have time to do my groceries. Though if I could get a refund and move on, that'd be great; I know you can't refund a cash tip, but if I could have my money back and leave, I'd also appreciate it."

And other variations. I want the timeline where I got my money back. I want the timeline where they apologize. Instead, I'm left with a timeline where I will not return to this place. I'm blacklisting a local favorite because they screwed up. Time to make my own matcha brownies.

Dear Lydia,

here's my first attempt at a lemon poppy seed cake:

4 eggs

250ml coco cream

5tbsp each coco flour and sticky rice flour

.5tbsp baking powder

1 lemon of lemon juice

.5tsp lemon crystal

1/4c stevia

2tbsp poppy seeds

1tbsp cornstarch (to thicken)

cook: 35min at 350F / until edges begin to brown. used 8x8inch glass pan with parchment paper.

The texture was akin to polenta. My coworkers gobbled them up—literally. This is the first time I've had no leftovers. Needless to say I'm pleased. There was none of the coconut flour throat dryness. They felt moist and fluffy. Rise: total of .5inch? Decently thick. There was a crisp outer layer and a moist inner layer. I'm pleased. I'm going to start by changing the ratio of coconut flour to sticky rice flour; up sticky rice flour and see what happens. Now to decide what to do flavor-wise...I could do pandan. Pandan coconut? I could also do matcha coconut; may not need cornstarch. I'm bringing dumplings this week. Another cake might be overkill. I'm looking for a reason to bring in holy basil stir fry for two coworkers.

I heard a father arguing with his child about what knife he would buy him. The child called his father Mr LastName. They wore the same outfit. The daughter wore a black dress; she was small, probably eight or nine years old, and silent. The father spoke about how he had to go out of his way to take them to the store; his son could look at things to get an idea of what he liked, and then he could go home and think about what he wanted. The son would pick up a knife, and the father would state his opinions on it. Every opinion included a reason why he wouldn't buy his son the knife. They went through most—if not all—of the knives in the aisle. The son grew frustrated; the father grew stern.

I bought a knife. I have mixed feelings about assisted release—what if it's in my pocket, I bump into something, and it releases?—but I understand why my dad thinks it would be faster (in an emergency) than a manual release. Flicking it out feels dangerous. I am holding a knife. This could hurt me. This could hurt someone else. This is a weapon. I am holding a weapon because I am around people who are committing random acts of violence. I feel less safe, not more safe, with a knife. This is too concrete.

I like the handle. The texture makes it easy to have a grip on it; the hilt would stop my fingers from slipping.

Fade in from black.

Shots of individual musicians playing opening; can't see eyes; focus on hands.

Lyrics; shots are literal.

"There's a bathroom in the gas station" camera starts to focus on a bathroom door, slight zoom. "And I have locked myself in it to think" camera is near floor, moves upward as it focuses. Woman is standing in front of the mirror. Angle: can see her reflection in the mirror, part of the back of her body. We do not see her eyes.

She's mouthing the lyrics and tapping her fingers to the beat. "I might let you off easy" close up on her mouth in the mirror. "I might lead you on" still on her mouth, but camera is over her other shoulder(? different angle). "I might wait" close up on her tapping her fingers against the sink. "Cause where I" camera on mirror, her back is to the mirror, see her exit the bathroom. "And I am lost" Camera near her waist, pointed down as she walks out of the gas station, can see pavement. "And I might go up" camera on phone booth. Grimy, graffiti. Camera doesn't move; we're looking over her shoulder as she watches a copy of herself make a phone call. This copy is semi-transparent; we're watching what could happen. "on that machine" semi-transparent fades away.

"And you'll stop me" I imagine her dancing in the phone booth; sliding down the walls; odd camera angles; must not see her eyes. She is mouthing the lyrics.

"The door opens" can't see the person clearly, the camera is hazy and low, can see part of the bed, like the camera is sitting on a nightstand but pointed towards the door. "Hey, good morning" can see the woman's mouth move, it's up close so can't see the rest of her face.

Monday—spent 6hr at work, keeping people company, not working. Spent most of the time on my thesis. Began working on meal prep.

Tuesday—spent the morning making curry pastes. Worked an 8.5hr shift just to make sure I got to cook a certain dish. This was worthwhile. Went home and cooked for four(?) hours while I finished meal prep. I still need to cut up and freeze the last dish.

Wednesday— I don't remember what I baked last week. According to my coworkers: macaroons, cookies, a cake. This week: stir fry, cake, dumplings.

Indie music plays through the speakers at the coffee shop, providing a background for the customers' stream of chatter. Andrea scans the tables in the main seating area while she waits for her coffee. They're full—she spies a few people leaning against walls, trying to take the weight off their bodies as they hang out.

"Coffee for Andrea!"

She reaches across the counter to take the paper coffee cup. "Thank you, have a good day." The barista responds in like. She walks across the room, crossing through the doorway to the second seating area. There are empty seats, but there's a person at each table. She frowns. She could ask the lone guy at the long table, but—

"Hey, Andrea!"

She whips her head, scanning the room until she finds a familiar face. Her eyebrows shoot up when she locates one. "Derrick?" she calls back as she approaches him.

He's seated, alone, at a square table for two. There's a half-empty coffee mug beside his computer. He pulls his belongings back as he beckons her. "Come, sit. I didn't expect to see you here. Are you busy? Meeting someone?"

"Ah, no," she says with a chuckle. She pulls out the chair and begins to arrange herself. "I'm just here for the coffee."

"What're you having?"

"Today's light roast? I've had this one before, there's a nice vanilla and rum note to it. It doesn't quite beat their good dark roast—the one that has a chocolate note and is a bit smoky?—but I'm not fond of today's dark roast."

"Really?" he says. He sips his coffee. "I'd've thought you could appreciate the earthy flavor. Though you don't strike me as a coffee connoisseur either."

"I think it's too earthy. I know the package says there's a hint of molasses in there, but my tongue isn't good enough to find that note. And I'm not about to doctor it up!"

"That...does not surprise me."

"Yeah...anyways, what are you doing here?"

"I usually come here Sunday mornings and spend a few hours cracking away at work. Then I can enjoy a night where I pretend to not think about work for a few hours." She chuckles; he sips his coffee. "But I've done enough for today. Distract me, hon. What're you up to?"

"Getting out of the house, having a crisis, y'know." She shrugs. "The usual." She sips her coffee.

"Why do you say you're having a crisis?"

She tilts her head to the side. "Y'know, I always forget you're actually interested in talking to people." She straightens. "I want to drop out of college."

"You've already told me that. What's different about this time?"

"Why should I take out more loans for a degree I don't want? Like, if I ever change my mind, I can go back. And maybe I just need a semester off to get my shit together. But I'm not craving the start of the school year. I just—I really don't care. I'm not sure why I should spend more time on this, or waste more money on this."

"It's an investment in your future—what'll you do instead?"

"I don't know." She looks down and shrugs. "I kinda just want to cut out the parts of my life I don't like, keep the things I do like, and add the things I used to like. I've spent so much time on my thesis I haven't had time for my old hobbies. I miss getting to read and write for fun."

"...you like your job."

"Yeah, I really do. And that's the problem!" She laughs. "I know it might not be a good long-term choice, but in the short term, it's great. I've been here for, what, four months? And I like it more each day. I won't pretend I love everything about it, but it's still something I look forward to. It's something I get to do. Like, what'll Peter let me prep today? Will I continue onion exposure therapy?"

"Back up—why do you say it's a problem?"

"That's just something I used to say to Tina? I'm sure you've heard the way some of us complain about you."

"The rumors are right—I am anal."

She shrugs. "Yeah, but it's easier to put up with that when I like—and care about—what I'm doing. At least, I can find a point in what you say. So I can't easily join in on shitting on you, really I have a bad habit of defending you, which...something. The train of thought has left the station." She sips her coffee. "But that's enough of that. Care to tell me why I shouldn't drop out?"

"I think that's your choice to make."

Kiss me
Just once
For luck
These are desperate measures now
Desperate Measures, by Marianas Trench

When I think of reasons to not drop out, I think about my parents. My mom would be disappointed in herself---she'd be beating herself up over it. That's her problem, sure, but I'm still the reason. I still owe it to her---that is, there is a sense of obligation to not be a failure. I don't want to let her down.

At the same time, we're not close. My sister moved in to college recently; my mom is going out of her way to do things for her that she didn't do for me. 2hr was too far to go see me---40min is too far---yet 2hr is not too far to go see her. This hurts me.

My mom doesn't reach out to me. She doesn't text. I text her to see if we can facetime; she has nothing to say to me. We catch up on some of what's going on in our lives. Everything is forgettable. She doesn't want to hear me talk about work. She asks questions that I can't answer properly. We don't have a head chef, it's not that kind of professional kitchen. There is no "yes, chef" (except from one girl; the proper response is impolite).

...and then I talked to —, we figured out study plans for the fall(!), and now I feel better. Maybe I'm just dreading the future. Maybe I'm just worried about what might happen. Maybe I'm afraid of something. The loneliness crept in and I started to doubt myself. I don't think I can do this. I don't think I'm allowed to hang out with other people. The thought of being around one of my coworkers outside of work is so weird. Yet she quit; she's no longer my coworker.

I may be biting off more than I can chew. I don't think I have my affairs in order---I'm not confident about my work. I don't think I'm cut out to be a math major. I think I'm just a hobbyist; I don't care about my thesis. I see this work as something I just need to get through so I can get on with my life. What's my life.

I like my job. I want to keep doing this. That's the problem, isn't it? I can't let this go~

I need to write up some reminders.