Can't think of anything witty

So I'm typing from a downtown internet cafe.

At this time of the week I'd normally be in with my shrink but apparently she's on vacation. Lucky her. She probably told me she'd be away, and I probably forgot. The result is I have around three-an-a-half hours to kill before group therapy.

This is a cafe I used to frequent when I was jobhunting some time ago. Slap bang in the centre of downtown makes it convenient to get anywhere else from here, although it's location at Isabella & Gloucester also makes me uneasy. It's perilously close to Yonge & Bloor, the site of the Xerox tower where I was forced out of one job (DDB PR) and set up to fail in another (Interbrand). Thus there is always the chance I might run into someone I used to work with, leading to the inevitably uncomfortable, "So what are you doing these days?" question that it shames me to answer.

Even worse, I might run into my old boss at DDB or the woman at Interbrand who deliberately gave me wrong directions for meetings, undermined my authority, tattled to the VP about me, hid files from me on the server, and finally got me fired by setting me up for a task I couldn't complete so she could run to the boss and 'grass me up' as soon as I was five minutes late on a deadline. This was the final straw that got me fired apparently...on All Fool's Day 2008.

Hysterical.

That was the $110,000 p.a. + benefits peak before the zero income trough I'm in now.

I should be feeling guilty. I just ran amok, buying not only a carton of milk from the nearby convenience store, but also a $4.99 sandwich. I've been trying to keep down such extravagances, knowing full well I can make a sandwich at home for next to nothing. It's not even that I feel like I'm treating myself.

I just don't see the point in trying anymore.