Ghost Pops Before Bed Time

Help, internet, I'm busy and tired. I have lots of freelance work to do, my social life appears to be trying to make up for my entire adolescence all at once, and I'm having a really hard time staying awake for a normal number of hours per day. Apparently 9pm isn't bed time? I don't know. Stop telling me what to do. You're not the boss of me.

I'm sorry. Tired makes me sulky. It all feels rather too much like my days slumped over my desk in the library last year.

It's getting wintery, which is my current excuse for eating all the snacks all of the time, to the extent that even Dave, my buddy in low-blood-sugar-avoidance, laughs at my daily snack bag for work. Contrary to what he tells you, I am not eating 30 dried apricots a day. Firstly, I can't afford to eat 30 dried apricots a day, and secondly, it's not even properly winter yet. (Check back next month.)

But anyway, I have been doing some things. Here are some of those things.

I went to a genderfuckery party.

I have no idea what's going on here, but by the look on Ro's face, it's something scandalous.

We are manly heterosexual men and that makes us... confused?

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Peanut Butter Dreaming on Such an Autumn Day

I had just started to settle into a routine where I was actually managing to work full-time and still do other stuff like go to gym and buy groceries and hang out with people. And I was getting paid! Not as much as a normal salary, but much more than I had any right to expect from my one day a week of paid work. I dreamt of a new duvet! Good peanut butter! Not crying over the water bill each month! Everything was going well.

But it turns out that was a little optimistic, because the Fundraising Place - the only people actually paying me - just cut my hours to... well, none. Until they need me again at some point in the vague future.

This is what I did not do when they told me, because unfortunately, the fact that they were my main source of income is my problem, not theirs.

Not that you can even get vegan ice cream here any more. NOW I FEEL WORSE.

So instead I acted like this was all totally fine, asked them to call me in for a few hours here and there if I could do anything, and walked home. Thus.

(I love you, tumblr.)

Which did give me the opportunity to do my obligatory privilege check. I'm glad to be in a position where I can afford to lose my main source of income and have it make me only sad, rather than, you know, homeless. But I think I'm still allowed to be a little sad.

Nevertheless, here are some things that are not sad!

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