I snuck through Vinton last night. Trying not to be seen.
But I can’t not admit to what I did.
I’m a terrible deviant.
Like, I can be wildly inappropriate with no problem. I have no issues with trespassing in the name of adventure and mountain views. I’m quite fond of the curse words. I’ll talk about any questionable topic you want. In detail. Likely with some personal examples.
But I’m a terrible liar.
I think it’s the guilt. I don’t guilt well.
A co-worker accused me of stealing his candy bar yesterday. That another co-worker gave him.
Now, in my defense, the co-worker that gifted the candy bar is MY Work BFF. And this dude’s trying to claim her as his. And I’m not very good at sharing. So I didn’t appreciate her gifting him a candy bar.
But also, I didn’t actually take it.
And yet, they were accusing me so convincingly that I almost confessed.
Because I absolutely sounded guilty. And even started feeling guilty.
There was a moment when I thought, “Did I, though?”
I do love food. Very much. And I will take food from you. But only when I know you know I’m taking it. I’m fine with stealing your food from right in front of you.
I just can’t handle the guilt of stealing from you without your knowledge.
I did NOT take the candy bar.
So, anyway. I was sneaking through Vinton.
In my defense, it was a very long day. I had to go straight from one job to the next. And I didn’t get lunch yesterday. Because I’ve eaten through my snack drawer at work and forgot to replenish it. Because I’m also not great at adulting.
So I was STARVING.
Like, cursing at the cars around me, throwing what BB calls a “Sunshine tantrum” level starving.
My body was actively consuming itself.
And verbally abusing me as it did so.
So you understand, right?
Why I had to?
Make a right.
Into the McDonald’s parking lot?
And holy shit, I was trying to be covert as hell.
Because OT lives back there.
And the last time I did this, he pulled up beside me in the drive through and started heckling me. Loudly. As I tried to order some cheeseburgers. And fries.
And PTSD is real.
Because when I crept up to the drive through last night, and some dudes started arguing, loudly, and aggressively, over by the dumpsters behind me. I almost jumped out of my car and ran.
Not because their fight was escalating quickly. And I was worried about gunshots. Which, I mean, it was and I maybe should have been.
But because my brain processed it as OT. And didn’t want to get caught. Ordering actual shit for dinner.
But the drive through speaker voice was talking to me. And I also don’t like to disappoint her. And the fighting behind me was quieting down. And my stomach was all like, “Fuck OT. Deluxe Quarter Pounder with Cheese. No onion. Now.” And the drive through speaker voice heard it. And offered some fries and sweet tea with it. And my stomach was all like, “Yes. All of that. You’re our favorite. You give the nice lady money now, Sunshine.”
So, that’s what I ate for dinner last night. And also maybe half a bag of Doritos and some bean dip. When I got home.
Because I also haven’t replenished the fridge here, either.
Because adulting is hard.
If you need me, I’ll be over here wallowing in my shame. And guilt. And deviance.