Woke up feeling well-rested. I slept in until about 10 a.m. this morning.

My foot is still a mess. As soon as I hoisted it out of bed and onto my floor, I knew I wouldn’t be running today. Walking to the park would even be a painful struggle, but I needed to get out of my apartment. It took me a while, but I managed to leave the Witch Cave around 2 p.m. After cleaning, eating, exercising pon de floor, and conversing with a variety of friends, I packed a bag with food, wine, and books, and walked all the way to Trinity Bellwoods along Queen Street West.

I only managed to see one person I knew on my walk to the park, which was quite surprising. If I had a dollar for every encounter I’ve had on Queen Street, I could retire in Boca tomorrow. A big part of me was hoping to see RX. Last night, he said he would be in the area doing some shopping.

To be honest, I thought I looked good today. Despite what my satanic scale from Hell told me this morning, of course. Maybe it’s from the lack of running, but I’m up five pounds. I’m not happy about it. So, clearly it made sense to wear my tightest jeans today? Idiot.

I got to the park, but made the mistake – or not, I haven’t decided – of texting Dan soon after I picked a spot. Naturally, that led to me inviting Dan to join. I was really in the zone with my reading. I wanted to do some writing as well, so I was trying to think of excuses to cancel the invitation. I didn’t want to bail, though. Dan said that he was in a weird mood, so I didn’t want him staying at home alone. I know what that’s like. Plus, I did it to someone last night, so I needed the karma points. Having Dan with me was fine. After some quick chatting, we basically kept to ourselves and each did some reading. Dan only stayed for about an hour.

In my newfound quest to learn what goes into a good book, I’m trying to read more. I’ve started my literary journey with Chelsea Handler’s Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea book. It’s hilarious. I wish I could be that funny. The stories I want to write aren’t even half as interesting or humorous as Chelsea’s. So, while the book was hilarious to read, it was also a blaring wake-up call of: “Damn. Who’s going to want to read my “short stories for children” novel?”

Dan and I made plans for later this evening. After he left, I stayed and continued reading in the park. I don’t think I’ve ever read so fast in my life. I read almost 100 pages of Chelsea Handler’s book, which would normally take me about four months to finish.

After the way I ended last night’s journal entry, I thought it was funny that Katya messaged me today out of the blue. Oh, God. That just reminded me that we are coming up on the seven-year anniversary of my first Florida program. Oh, my God. I’m going to be physically ill.

That same timeline also marks five years since I first met RX. Hmm. An interesting coincidence given recent events. I had texted RX while I was at the park today, but I guess I missed him on Queen Street. I was sort of fishing for some sort of invite or – I don’t even know. Seeing him wouldn’t have been the worst thing. I don’t – whatever.

I limped all the way home again, stopping at Cosmo’s Records to pick up the Mariah Carey “Fantasy” and “Heartbreaker” 12-inch singles that I saw on my way to the park. From there, because I wanted to smoke the weed that Dan left with me on 420, I bought a $10 pipe at Friendly Stranger. Finally, after the world’s fucking longest walk home, I started to make dinner and smoked my stash. Shit. Wasn’t the bottle of wine I had consumed at the park enough?

My plan this evening was to blaze, eat, nap, and then meet up with Dan at The Beaver for a night pon de town. Well, around 10 p.m., Dan cancelled. I felt like absolute garbage from the weed and food I had consumed earlier, so that was totally fine by me.

I have to stop this. I cannot smoke weed anymore. I know that it requires going cold turkey, but I can’t. It’s so hard. I know I can do it. I shouldn’t say can’t. I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know why, though. I think it’s because I’m using weed as a distraction. Something shiny to brighten up my boredom or my unhappiness. In turn, the weed is actually putting an even greater damper on my life.

I feel horrible right now. I feel as low as I’ve ever been lately, and I didn’t feel like this before I smoked today. I ended up sitting on my couch all night. I watched a documentary about hippos, while ironically consuming as much food as one. I’m flushing that weed first thing tomorrow morning. I can do this. I can do this.

I’m taking a Panic Pill and going to bed.

Goodnight xo