since there's currently an ad with a picture of a tampon on the top of my screen, I'll take this opportunity to record the fact that my 13-year-old sister calls tampons "candy sticks." yes, "candy sticks" is her code word for tampons. I don't know why, but I found out when she complained to me that she gave my 16-year-old sister money to buy, "candy sticks...you know, tampons..." and didn't get back her change. my favorite part was that she assumed I'd be like, "oh yeah, of course, tampons, go on..." while she sprung the term on me. my mom has always been anti-tampon for me and my sisters because she's from the school of belief that they rob a girl of her virginity. yep. my parents spent their adolescence in the 60s, but most of the time you wouldn't know it.

so today's dragged by so horribly slow that I don't know how I'm going to get to Friday without maybe exploding or something. it's bad.

today at lunch, one of the women sitting at my table had a bottle of chocolate milk she'd purchased from my work cafeteria. I was with about 5 other people at the table, but all throughout lunch all I could do was stare at the chocolate milk bottle and think, "chocolate milk. there's chocolate milk right there and she's drinking it and I want it. I haven't had chocolate milk in a long time. I need to get that chocolate milk." so after I ate my whole lunch, which consisted of couscous, a carrot, a little cheese, and an apple, I fairly ran back into the cafeteria to get my own bottle of chocolate milk. I opened it greedily, saliva practically dripping down my chin, and drank it slowly so I could enjoy every minute of it. and now I feel like my stomach is going to burst open because it's stuffed full. this feeling is most unpleasant. if I could take my pants off right now, I honestly would. why is it that something I love so much (food) hurts me so? it's just not right. also, why aren't I rich yet? I still can't seem to find an adequate explanation for that.

I'm listening to the most recent Wilco album because I always forget how much I love it until I decide I need to hear one of the songs and then I have to listen to the whole album over and over again. so I'm doing that now, and it's reminding me of MHD, who expressed his love for Jeff Tweedy during one of our conversations that first night I saw him. I'm having a hard time stopping thinking about him. which is really crappy because it's just self-torture. but sometimes the self-torture is perversely enjoyable because I can dwell. and I can dwell like nobody else. even though I know it's not good for me. anyway, blah. stupid and crappy anguish.

museum time in 27 minutes. that will be a relief.