And It's Not Even My Birthday

I miss him so much.

And then I think, "No, you don't. You're just being an overly dramatic, attention seeking girl."

Both things are right. But it has been over a month now. I went to my work induction on Saturday. On the car ride home (I gave Z a lift), we gossiped about our workmates. She told me that once R comes back from Japan, he plans on sorting his life out (thank God). We both agreed that if we were 23 years old, weren't studying and were working at Officeworks as our main source of income, we would be sincerely concerned.

Apparently, he's thinking of becoming a pilot.

Yes, please.

I've been looking at pictures of cake all weekend. There's something so incredibly incredible about the cut face (yeah, it's getting pathological up in here) of an incredibly moist cake. All my knowledge about food, particularly baked goods, comes from reading copious amounts of food blogs. One of my favourite words learnt is "crumb" to (in fact) describe the crumb of a cake. You know, a fine crumb vs. a coarse crumb. Me, I like a moist crumb so that when you cut through the cake, all the crumbs meld together in this big, moist ball of cakey goodness.

I really want cake now.

I made really good (unhealthy kind) blueberry muffins this weekend for my mum (her favourite and all). I ate half of one today then felt fat (or just incredibly guilty). Because I've been eating rather healthy for the most part lately. Or at least less than usual. I weighed myself the other day. It appears I have lost ~1.5kg. This may be due to reasons such as the elusive "water weight" or other bodily fluids/functions. I choose to believe it's due to my decrease in calories and amped up running schedule. And not because of the really big piss I took not a minute before.

Goodbye. I must now look at more pictures of cake.

J