I went in for a few hours of work, which was tor­ture with­out hav­ing con­sumed more than 40 grams of car­bo­hy­drates, 8 grams of pro­tein, and 180 calo­ries in the last three days, but really, I can’t afford to be sick. I’m going to try to make it in for a few more hours tomor­row, if I don’t feel as weak and light-headed, but they already know that I may not be com­ing in at all. To stave hunger and dehy­dra­tion, I’ve been drink­ing as much water as I can before it makes me feel nau­seous again.

John also said some­thing that hurt me enough to make me cry (some­how I man­age to lose more flu­ids). Even though his off­hand com­ment was uncalled for, it’s partly my fault; being either hun­gry, tired, or sick can make me into a very can­tan­ker­ous per­son, but all three com­bined is as dan­ger­ous as jug­gling chain­saws. In real­ity, it’s no excuse. I’m deter­mined to apol­o­gize the next time I speak to him. As starved as I am, pride is always a hard thing to swallow.

I stepped out­side in the late evening, wear­ing my cot­ton hoodie, and real­ized that it was still too warm to be wear­ing any­thing with sleeves. It felt com­pletely odd to be out­side in the dark, when the sun already sets so late this time of year, and still be uncom­fort­ably warm. I was reminded of past sum­mer nights spent with Darren, being in the mid­dle of the park at mid­night with noth­ing but a black­ened sky above us and a jun­gle gym around us. It made me real­ize that I haven’t been out past sun­set since I’ve moved here, some­thing I don’t par­tic­u­larly mind when I have the com­fort of a house, a com­puter, and a housemate.