Getting on like hm maybe following this person might actually be worth it, maybe they are less problematic, and then immediately getting hit in the face with enough aphobia to make me feel sick: let’s not.

Problem: a can of peaches is a dollar and a few cents but I want six cans. A bag of crisps is a dollar and a few cents and I want none because ugh, crisps.

Peaches are healthier but expensive.

Could go out and make dip for the crisps but that requires A) energy and B) going into the common room twice in a day with no bra on which might kill me.

My life is an irredeemable travesty of stomach-based suffering and I have paired myself to a black hole which sucks up food indiscriminately and thus shall not understand my pain.

You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.

Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life