Lunch and co.

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We have a deal with friend/colleague Anna. When working on a hard project – known as selfassured/bighead directors or dop-s, meaning problematic workflow and a lot of complications in terms of they cannot make their so fvcking genious mind of theirs (two theirs on purpose) – we make salad lunches. We swap daily, and we make it pretty awesome. No dressing ever added.
Last week only one shared day with my boo, she prepared the food. Was quick but enjoyable. Rest of the week we had coffe together, was pretty busy otherwise, or never made it to lunch, cause our working hours were streched to the evening, no lunchtime.
So we drank caffeine instead with eating some on the side. Or just eating something and didn’t bother to drink at all. Constant headache as a reward.
Not that I ever had lunch at work. It is either the time to sneak out for a run, or stay at working and act like working. I’m not the kinda person who “forgets” eating however, I do it on purpose. If I eat I need to sleep too. So I rather skip.
Since I never eat lunch, I never go out to lunch.
Never say never though. Lunchtime is on auuw. There should be a first time for everything.

Weekend menace took me to the stage of totally messing up my system, this time not only brainwise. I need to think over my eating habits, it seems to have an effect on my daily life. Pimples are one thing, feeling low is not acceptable.


It is a life . My life. My decisions. Me in the middle, even though I hate to be in the center. All choices are made by me, the ones I don’t choose, those ones especially. Decisions, starting from eating that risotto, drinking that strawberry flavored Ciroc – limited edition of course, brought from Dubai Airport, who the fvck cares, it smells good, must taste good too -, taking way too much cigarette – the more I run, the more I smoke, bodylearning -, the need of loose myself with friends, the dance I just keep doing although I should get ready and take a shower, I’m already late, and taking that ugly gummibear into my mouth, just to realise gelatine is made out of animal ugliness I can’t even think about, so I just throw up and throw the bag of colored bears away. Oh no, I didn’t throw it away, gave it to a homeless lady, standing always at the same place, the intersection I usually pass either when running, or by car. She wears superawesome pants, happy colors, happy design, and she always has a word for me. Or to us, last time she mentioned how love breaked her heart. I hope the gummibear won’t hurt her.
But decisions I gotta make everyday, even when deciding not to decide. Go with the flow. Enjoy. Live.

But how on Earth a tasteful cookie make me feel miserable the next day? Same with wine, same with my thoughts I guess, those need to be digested too.

Drinking tea today, and having a lunch. To feel ok, oreven great.


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