Hee Ha Ha

I spent ten hours today at work cleaning things, hanging things up, and organizing things. It sucked. I am now in a terrifically crabby mood and have no interest whatsoever in cleaning my room, doing laundry, taking a shower, or not behaving like a bitch of Katherine Heigl-esque proportions. I will be glad when things are back to normal and I can practice and teach and that's that, without having to scrub anything with bleach or cover it in Con-tact paper.
I'm sitting in our stairwell, waiting for take-out Thai to arrive. A gloopy, greasy noodle-fest isn't exactly the best idea ever after a day of questionable food choices (Peppermint Bark Ingredients Jelly Bellies, anyone?), but cooking really wasn't on the cards at this point. I wish I didn't have to eat. I wish I could just think, I'm not going to eat, and then...actually not eat. I believe this is called "wanna-rexia". Naw, fo' reals. Google that shit. It's right up there with "drunk-orexia" (where you starve yourself all week to make up for the gajillions of calories you'll consume during the weekend's bender), "web-orexia" (where you go on the internets and tell everyone the best way to dress for protruding ribs while fawning over pictures of Angelina Jolie in her Jonny Lee Miller years), and "big-orexia" (which will be in the DSM V under "muscle dysmorphia", if you're interested). "Wanna-rexia", in a nutshell...when you wish you had the conviction and drive to starve yourself to death. I don't want to starve myself to death, I just want not to want things. And if I'm going to want things, I want to have the power to refuse them and do just fine without. If I can hammer a nail into my head and not die, why can't I not eat?
This is all very heavy for a Tuesday evening, but I suppose these are the things I am frequently thinking about. Aren't you glad my supposedly-above-average intelligence is being used to ponder such important, high-minded things? I know I am.
I wish our doorbell worked. I'm in the stairwell because the delivery person doesn't know the doorbell is purely for show, and will give up on getting my food to me pretty damn quick when I don't answer the door due to not knowing they're there. I feel like something of a tool sitting out here in my blue negligee. I'm not trying to be sexy, it's just too damn hot to wear actual clothes.
Ooh, a car door just slammed. Maybe that's the delivery guy. Maybe if it isn't, I'll bang my head on the wall until I pass out, and then dinner will no longer be an issue.