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After dismally failing at my interview and taking enough anti-anxiety meds to knock myself out for the night I decided to bake a cake since maybe that would help stop looking up details for my suicide plan. I finished my lab class this morning then drove straight to the store where I was accosted by some wine aunt foid while I was buying berries for my cake because apparently my cart was "too big" even though it was a normal fucking cart. Now thoroughly pissed off and still a bit fucked up from taking 5 or 6 of my buspirone tablets last night I ended up needing an hour to collect the rest of the ingredients since my mind felt it was going to fucking explode, but finally after collecting everything on my shopping list I managed to get checked out and go home.
Once home I had a blast making my cake and putting all the ingredients together. The only real problem here was when a fucking milk salesman showed up at my door and I panicked because I hadn't taken any anti-anxiety meds but because this guy was like 70 years old I couldn't force myself to tell him I didn't give a shit about his milk and listened to him talk about fucking milk for 30 minutes all while feeling like I should shoot myself. After getting a free bottle of milk (which I guess is a good thing) I finished whipping the heavy cream and powdered sugar together and then I used them to top my cake. I was proud of myself, this cake looked amazing and it tasted great too despite me adding some things to the recipe to make it work at high altitude. Then it all came crashing down.
My father came back home with his single mother "girlfriend" in tow yelling at me about how he was going to miss an appointment or something. Then his dumb bimbo started talking about eating my cake, and my mood instantly crashed. I didn't make that cake for you, foid, I made it to give to the neighbors or something and now you're talking to me like I'm a retard while assuming you can eat my cake. Fucking ruined my day, can't stand people taking my shit.
Once home I had a blast making my cake and putting all the ingredients together. The only real problem here was when a fucking milk salesman showed up at my door and I panicked because I hadn't taken any anti-anxiety meds but because this guy was like 70 years old I couldn't force myself to tell him I didn't give a shit about his milk and listened to him talk about fucking milk for 30 minutes all while feeling like I should shoot myself. After getting a free bottle of milk (which I guess is a good thing) I finished whipping the heavy cream and powdered sugar together and then I used them to top my cake. I was proud of myself, this cake looked amazing and it tasted great too despite me adding some things to the recipe to make it work at high altitude. Then it all came crashing down.
My father came back home with his single mother "girlfriend" in tow yelling at me about how he was going to miss an appointment or something. Then his dumb bimbo started talking about eating my cake, and my mood instantly crashed. I didn't make that cake for you, foid, I made it to give to the neighbors or something and now you're talking to me like I'm a retard while assuming you can eat my cake. Fucking ruined my day, can't stand people taking my shit.
