Whoever says butter is the secret to happiness can kiss my fatty ass

In an attempt to extinguish my “sickness”, I tried to read. Halfway through Tracy Chevalier’s Falling Angels I sensed that instead of diminishing my murkiness, it has gone worse. So, I headed for the kitchen and found myself some potatoes. Now it seems incredibly strange but potatoes and episodes of How I Met are my instant picker-uppers. Of course the potatoes take longer, but still. I diced the potatoes into tiny cubes, not so tiny as to call them minced. And cooked them in butter. Until the edges are crisp and brown. It took me no more than 5 minutes to eat them.

I didn’t feel better.

My mom, in swift motherly fashion, intervened and prepared me her Apple Cinnamon Rolls. Which is basically how one would prepare turon, except it’s apples and cinnamon instead of bananas and brown sugar. I had 5 servings.

Still not better.

That’s 3 potatoes and 5 Apple Cinnamon Rolls. So now, I'm 8 times fatter and not a bit less lonely. Awsomesucky life.