sigh

Crap, now all I want to do is write. What a terribly slippery slope. I hope I don't get fired. I'd have to shut my senses off, otherwise its pent up smoke in my lungs. I want to write about the guy who just asked me for a light with his tie undone and slung around his neck, the girl behind him possibly the one who undid his tie, mewing that she had a lighter, but he wanted mine. About the androgynous elderly person I held the door open for. About realizing that if the pretty med student I am currently trying to (not) woo reads this, she will be disappointed. I wish I was healthier for you, like you, for me. Crunching on spelt and thinking of you, imagining gluten and guilt-free worlds where we could reside.