I allowed myself to wallow yesterday. Mostly because I was tired. So tired. I had three hours of fitful sleep, woke up despondent and slightly hungover, and then had to drag my butt to the library. Too tired to even conjure up a smile, I decided to glower and growl at everyone instead. I do my best to remain impartial.
On the way home from work, I stopped at the grocery store to get some things for dinner. Mike said he wanted comfort food, which is usually man-code for meatloaf. I stood at the meat case, staring at the ground meat. Usually I'll pick up a combination of beef and pork and skip the veal - a lingering tenderheartedness left over from my liberal days, I suppose - but I chose the convenient three pack instead. I was running on empty and didn't care. Besides, it's already dead, tastes delicious and I've heard a rumor that every time you eat a tortured baby cow a hippie cries.
The leftovers were good too.