One of the keys to blogging is to never give a shit about what anyone else thinks. Never write for an audience. Never censor oneself based on what other people may say. Never be embarrased or ashamed to admit anything.

Otherwise, one isn’t being true to oneself. If there are those who are nosy, those whom we’d rather not have reading, that should never be an issue. I may have my fair share of creepy internet stalkers (one is already more than enough), but I refuse to let that stop me from saying what’s really on my mind.

It may be difficult to let go, but it’s worth it. The freedom is completely empowering. Blogs are a personal space, as public as they may be, and should be treated as such.

Expression is an act that should never be hindered by something as harmless as opinion.

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.

Hence the absence from work. It feels like the long weekend burned me out, and I need another one. Thank god it’s already wednesday.

Really, it’s probably just a mild stomach bug, causing my body to reject everything but very dry, thinly sliced toast that comes in packs of eight, named after the stage name of Australian opera singer Helen Porter Mitchell. I suspect that I’ll also be able to consume collagen processed from pork skin, cattle bones, and cattle hide, but I’m still waiting for it to set in the freezer.

I feel so helpless when I’m like this. I generally don’t worry about much, but health is the only thing that I can’t look at cerebrally. I’m not even comfortable writing this. It just keeps making me think of how bad I feel. Too nauseated to fall asleep. Too tired to do anything else.