important moment of clarity, clarification or whatnot:

hate my job, love my work

in other news am knitting what looks like enormous and terrifying underpants. what's even weirder is that they're for a baby. people reassure me that if it's going over a nappy it'll need a lot of room, but still feel guilty for inflicting such a garment on someone who has done me no harm and I haven't even met yet.

(oh, the mum-to-be ate some muffins that I wanted to save for later, but as heinous a crime as that is, can't really hold that against either of them)