The Fine-ingest Dining-est part of my heart is kinda dead.

I am beating off the ensuing loss of my job melloncolia by lying in bed, watching family guy and eating a bean and cheese burrito.

Tonight they gave me a ice cream cake that said "Good Luck, Kat!" in cold, blue frosting. I got one last catering. I got that guy's arm on my shoulder. ( I still have such a gut reaction to you, but because this town is small, and everyone's reputations are so damn damaging, I don't want to write you down...)

I came home and promptly painted my nails black because I was never allowed to paint my nail...major health code violation. And then I looked at my shitty paint job, and my hands looked really juvenile, but I'll let the polish flake.

You know, I know I put my two weeks in one my own, but I still feel a little disowned...