Okay. I threw an adult temper tantrum tonight. We’ll get to it eventually, but just know that it happened. I am not proud of it, but it happened. This is also the first journal entry written on my new computer. Yet another story. Here we go.

Standard wake-up, shower, and breakfast routine this morning. I’ve been getting smarter about it, too. In what can only be referred to as a Mom-inspired move, I’ve been hoarding food from the free hotel breakfast so that I have dinner to eat when I get home from work. It’s a completely brilliant plan!

Once at The Clubhouse, I did my thing. Actually, I put in quite a bit of work today. Big Bird is killing me with these membership survey results. We’ve reached a point where nothing else on our laundry list of departure projects matters. I’ve just been making graph, after graph, after graph. Although it’s ridiculous, I really don’t care. Two more days! I secretly filmed Big Bird peeling an egg this afternoon. I needed the footage as evidence. If there’s ever a moment when someone says they don’t believe my Big Bird stories, I now have proof of the insanity.

After going home to the Hilton at 4:30 p.m., I began dealing with my old MacBook again. Still not working. I was only getting more frustrated as time went on. The external hard drive was fried. When I finally got the thing to turn on, I was given the option to wipe everything and start over. So, I did.

Around this time, I received a call from a woman in Brampton who was interested in buying my Witch Cave mattress. At least, I think she was. I couldn’t tell through the broken English, but did my best to explain what was for sale – despite everything being listed in extreme detail online. I was also asked to text message her the same information. Okay. Fine. Just take this goddamn mattress off my hands.

Ten minutes later, I got a call from another buyer. This time, a man. Same thing. The guy didn’t understand what I was selling, so I texted him the information as requested. When he called a second time, he wanted to meet me at my apartment in 25 minutes, and purchase the mattress for $30. I was selling it for $50, so he begrudgingly settled on $40. Oy. If only I knew then what I know now.

On the streetcar and sitting in traffic, I came to the jarring realization that I’d forgotten my Witch Cave keys at the hotel. Fuck! After the buyer berated me over the phone for making him wait, I finally arrived at the apartment. Once upstairs and inside the unit, the entire venture proved to be a complete waste of my time.

“Too small,” the man grumbled, taking one look at the mattress before turning around and leaving.

Oh. My. God. I was so angry. I literally lost my breath trying to make this happen, only for the guy to blow me off with such a ridiculous response. As if the website listing didn’t have all of the details, I gave him a clear description over the phone and via text. What the fuck? The audacity! There was a part of me that felt bad. I think the man knew he’d fucked up. Plus, his reasoning for needing a bigger bed was that he had to sleep his three small children side-by-side in a single room. Yeah, yeah. I know. Call me Scrooge. I just wasn’t in the mood to have my time wasted like that.

Frustrated, I stomped back to the subway. When I arrived at St. Andrew Station, my phone buzzed. A new stranger on Facebook wanted to buy my mattress – tonight! The wording in her message was “ASAP.” This was at 8 p.m. Messaging the woman immediately, I told her that I’d be at the apartment in 15 minutes. Of course, that never happened. Following over 40 minutes of delayed responses, I received a message letting me know that it would be better to meet tomorrow night instead. Are these people fucking kidding! I swear. The complete lack of respect people have for time is ludicrous.

Waiting inside that ice box of a subway station for so long, I couldn’t feel my hands. I also had snot dripping down to my ankles. Motherfucker. Back on the subway, then the streetcar, and then to my hotel room. Except, I realized something on my way home.

While sitting pon de streetcar, I had a very, “OH, MY GOD!” moment. I’m not kidding. My jaw dropped to the floor, and the girl sitting beside me looked over in shock. I remembered that when I erased the data on my hard drive, the dump included all of my high school and university work. I’d forgotten it was on there. Not that I am crying over my lost schoolwork, but now it’s all gone. Damn it.

Back at the Hilton, that’s when I had my hissy fit. I slammed the door shut, threw off my jacket, smacked shit around the room, and just went on a general rampage. I was so frustrated. My computer was fucking broken, my work was trashed into the cyber dump, and now I had wasted a total of two fucking hours with assholes that couldn’t read a fucking message properly. I’m at a point where I just want to throw all of that Witch Cave shit onto the curb. I want to light it on fire, and never go back to that apartment. I literally never want to set foot inside that space ever again. I mean, I have to tomorrow. But, after that – no more! Oy.

In an attempt to vent, I texted Mom all of this. For some reason, she thought it would be a good idea to call me afterwards. I tried to remain as calm as possible, but basically told Mom that it was not a good time for me to talk. I needed to get off that call as fast as possible, before I continued my rampage.

Fortunately, things turned around from there. Phillip sent me a message, letting me know that Dad was coming downtown and had a new hard drive to give me. 30 minutes later, the man was in my hotel room and setting up my computer. He even took the old hard drive home to see if he could fix it. I know I rag on Dad for a lot of things, but he’s always there when I need him. Granted, I don’t call on him nearly as often as I call on Mom, but knowing that Dad went out of his way to help me tonight was so appreciated. After a shitty series of events, it was such a calming experience for me. Once Dad got back to his hotel, I thanked him again.

Tonight was one of those moments where nothing was going to plan. I know, I know. Life rarely goes according to plan. I think I’ve just been caught up in a constant stream of things working out if I plan them properly. In an ideal world, that guy would have bought the mattress and my computer setup would have been seamless. As I write it all out now, it’s so stupid. Who the fuck cares? Who cares if I don’t sell a fucking mattress? Who gives a shit if I don’t get to use my new computer tonight? God. I feel like such a prick. A spoiled brat, really.

After Dad left, I went to the gym. Life settled. I had an incredible workout. All of my stress dissipated. By the end of those two hours, I returned to my room feeling so much better. That’s where I am now. I’m bloated as all hell – but I feel better.

I don’t have much to say in regard to anything else tonight. Although, I did remember something I wanted to write about yesterday that I’d forgotten about. It was December 13 yesterday. After recently hearing someone’s horror story of losing their personal notes on their phone, I checked to make sure mine were still in their rightful spot. They were. Thank God. I started going through a few. Just the ones from this time last year. That’s actually something I miss about my old journal. Writing entries on my computer, I don’t get to see the progression of my writing and experiences through the years.

Anyway, I read the entry from last December 13. It was the day I woke up at Logan’s apartment, which was also the night I moved all of my stuff there after he asked me to spend the remainder of my New York City trip with him. That means today would have been the day that Logan and I went to the American Museum of Natural History. Of course, the biggest event from that day was what Logan told me before we went to bed:

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he whispered softly. “You’re so special. You have so many special gifts, and you are so unique. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Logan had known me for two days. After he fell asleep, I lay on my back looking up at his ceiling. I cried.

A short statement like Logan’s – a relative stranger at the time – was the most incredible thing anyone had ever said to me. His words felt so genuine and sincere. As if he had seen right through the thick walls I’ve put up over the years. When Logan said that, I broke down. I felt as though he saw something in me that nobody else wanted to – or could – recognize. And he did it so quickly. That was the moment when I really fell for Logan. Despite everything our situationship evolved and broke down into, I still think about those words a lot. Logan brought such a sense of confidence, happiness, and worth into my life that I hadn’t felt in so long.

That was exactly the problem, though. Confidence, happiness, and worth cannot be derived from someone else. Now, I see it. I’m aware of how I latched on to Logan, as I know that he provided me with those traits. In fact, maybe the revelation needed to happen that way. Perhaps I needed someone like Logan to show me those emotions, and in turn, make me realize that I am ultimately responsible for them. I see how Logan was probably attracted to the confident, life of the party Kurt that he met on December 12. As time went on, that confident front wore away to reveal someone who is very insecure and sensitive. When that happened, Logan lost interest.

Fuck. I can’t believe it’s been a year. It’s been a whole fucking year. Not to mention, the worst one of my life. Although I feel like I’ve gone through hell and back since that New York City trip, I also know I’m leaving that dark place with a better understanding of what I want in life, and who I want to be. I said a “better” understanding. I’m still figuring it out. Also, I still want to throw eggs at Logan’s apartment windows. Maybe I’ll give them to Big Bird instead.

I’m tired.

Goodnight xo

@yalittlenasty Instagram post from this morning.