j4 | I'm wasting all your time

So I was in the kitchen, making myself a cup of coffee, I call it the idiot drink, and decided to have one of the doughnuts that Anne had provided for her birthday, not that a birthday's anything to celebrate, ho ho, 21 again, another year closer to another birthday. And the man who was standing there whose name I probably still won't know when I shake the dust of this place from my shoes several months down the line said "Ooh, they're not good for you, you know," and I laughed and said "Well, ho ho, it'll cheer me up, and that's good for me," and did that slight breathy laugh that you do for laughing at your own jokes not because they're funny but to tag them as jokes because they're not funny and otherwise you might not notice and then it's straight into the valley of funny looks and sidling past in corridors. Then I tried to get out through the door with a cup of coffee in one hand and the doughnut slowly oozing jam in the other, arsing the door open with a huff of the hips and then catching it on a foot or an elbow or an oh as if it matters, and somehow the doorhandle swung into my back, so that I made an involuntary "ngh" sound from somewhere down in my belly, and then I worried for the whole way back to my desk that it had sounded as though I'd made a hoggy little "mmm" sound at the prospect of a big cheap sticky doughnut all scratchy with sugar and full of pink plastic jam. And that was my morning.