Cake

I'm old and bitter. Get used to it. I'm trying. I want to believe that I'm still young and new and believe in good things and positive thinking and hearts and flowers and kittens. But I don't. I believe in nothing except the fact that anyone who meets me will like me for about a minute and then move on to more normal people who know how to dress better. I believe in disingenuity and falsehood, lies, and the fact that the world is plotting against me. It's a conspiracy. Yes, I'm bitter.

I want to scream and throw things and maybe even break something, but it wouldn't really do any good because it doesn't make a difference. No one is listening.

I bought groceries today. Included in the haul was four boxes of cake mix. I have every intention of making these cakes, but I have no intention of sharing them with anyone. They will be cakes for me to stuff in my face all on my own because that's what cares about me now. And I can eat cake.