We're moving on out.

So, it's true. Everyone is moving on and away and people are finally past the rush of the holidays, the season of happy, the illusion of calm. As these guys were packing up the tree in the city square ('bout fucking time, it's been up since October) there was also a ute filled with red balls and my phone started ringing.
It is my first week off work in two and a half years, officially, and I get told that because of the recession, all the temps in the building are being let go. No, I believe they said that no temp contracts were being renewed in our sector.

Awesome.


Right after our shitty fucking housemate ran out on us and we had to cover his rent...


and bills.

My first thought was how much cheese I would sacrifice...seriously.

But, that is what I get for working in a bank. My soul is tainted. Technically I should be fine, and I have been wanting to leave since I started, but alas, bills must be paid and I just can't be bothered finding another job...and a housemate at the same time.

So, my soul is soothed with a French woman and Greenhouse.

She got the broccoli, zucchini and feta quiche.

I attempted to get through this fior di latte, fennel, tomato and capsicum roll. Just what I needed, it was just too much.

And I guzzled three burnt short blacks in my anxious state and decided it would be better to head somewhere with oomph.












God, I can't believe I just said oomph*. Shoot me.
Anyways, I am reading Dave Eggers (latest) collection of short stories while sucking down a very-strong-and-not-that-burnt-but-kind-of-dirty short black. (Say that like Jungle Julia off Death Proof.)

And how do I feel?









Caffinated.



*(Oomph, read: Pushka.)