I am so fucking exhausted, and I did absolutely nothing all day.

To be fair, I went to a hot yoga class this morning with Mom. That completely drained me, though. By the end of the class, I was literally lying in a pool of my own sweat. I’m not kidding. There was sweat dripping from my socks. I can run non-stop for an hour, and still be more energized than I was at the end of today’s yoga class.

The worst part was that I didn’t even feel as though I had exercised. I don’t mind yoga. In fact, I’m relatively good at it because of my flexibility. I appreciated going to the class, but I would choose running any day over yoga or Pilates. For me, pounding my legs into a treadmill is a much more effective form of stress-relief. It leaves me with a greater sense of accomplishment. I like high impact. I sit on my ass all day at work. I don’t want to do the same with my exercise routine. I’m proud of Mom for consistently going to those classes, though. Apparently, she’s been going to about five per week, which is amazing! It’s just not for me.

We got home, and I decided to be somewhat productive. I swiped Phillip’s trimmer from his bathroom, and did some landscaping. Yeah. That’s my idea of “productive” this weekend. Phillip was due to come home from Osheaga in Montreal tonight, and I didn’t want him to catch me trimming my ass hairs with his new toy.

Remember: if you can’t tone it, tan it. And if you can’t tan it, trim it.

When you go so long being a fat ass, you discover ways to slim certain things down – or at least make them appear slimmer. It’s all about the optical illusions. The forced perspectives, dahhhling! Wearing black helps, too.

I showered up, gave myself a cute middle-part hairdo, and settled into my favorite High School Musical hoodie. Given that I was not smoking weed today, I continued my streak of productivity. After lunch, I applied to 15 jobs. That’s pretty fucking good. I did it whilst sequencing the Harry Potter series. Mom and Dad left for a birthday party in the late afternoon, so I had the house to myself.

I sent out a lot of fucking emails today. I was proud of that. I hate applying to jobs, but it’s definitely much easier doing it when you already have full-time income. There’s less pressure. I just need those fucking benefits. Honestly, if I landed a new job that came with a benefits plan, that would be the main point in my letter of resignation to The Clubhouse.

“Sorry, but I’m a human being and I have a back that needs fixing. I’m leaving.”

Free toilet paper and stolen croissants aren’t cutting it anymore. But, wait. Did they ever?

Naturally, after sitting on the couch for an extended amount of time, I had worked up an appetite. Opening the fridge for the twentieth time today – wait. Why do we do that? As if something is going to magically appear that wasn’t there before? Normally, that’s the case. I’ll open my condiment-filled fridge at my apartment, hoping that a key lime pie is going to materialize right before my eyes, and obviously it never does. However, at Casa Z, that is a very real possibility.

Not only was there a fresh pie in the fridge, but as I looked at the top of the fridge door – beside all of the stolen Taco Bell hot sauce packets and coffee creamers that Mom has collected over the years – I noticed something new.

Weed. Chocolate.

I mean, how many fucking households do you know where you can open the fridge, look to your right, and find edibles? With one job application left to send, and an entire Harry Potter series ahead of me, I chowed down on some special chocolate.

There needs to be a proper guide to edibles. Like, I don’t want the recommended dosage. Surely, someone who has smoked as much weed as me has a higher tolerance than someone getting baked for the first time. I always want to eat more, but there are two problems:

You never know how high the food it’s going to get you.
Once you’re stoned, you’re stoned. There’s no turning back.

I ate a little more than the recommended dosage, and returned to my groove pon de couch.

The funny thing about edibles is that it takes so long for you to feel anything. When you do, it’s sort of like a “whoa” moment, and then you realize you’re fucked. I wasn’t fucked today, but I was definitely laughing to myself. I know I’m stoned when I stare at my phone for 30 minutes, and then realize that there isn’t actually anyone beside me. I always think there’s someone else in the room with me when I’m high. Like, I know there isn’t. Yet, for some reason, I’m always surprised when I look up and am reminded that I’m alone. Is that weird? Oh, well.

I was trying to keep the eating cute today, even making sure to include vegetables between my snacks. At a certain point, I lost control. Three slices of pie, an entire bag of chocolate covered almonds, chips, chicken, garlic bread, ice cream out of the carton, and pretty much anything else you can imagine. I ate it all. Fucking all of it.

I’m happy I got the job applications in, but I was too high to do anything else. I just ate everything. Today was probably the worst day for eating in a while. Fuck. Naturally, I had more weed chocolate before bed. I’m now waiting for it to kick in, because I want to make a video about a hippo dancing – i.e., me.

I’ve decided that maybe I’ll skip The Go-Go’s concert, but I definitely want to go to New York City with the boys next month.

I was a bit more social today. I responded to all of the messages I ignored yesterday. Naturally, Naomi was in town and didn’t tell me until the last minute. I also talked to Aaron about his engagement. Yes. Aaron in New York City is engaged – to a guy he started dating in February.

I couldn’t tell if Aaron’s reasoning for his recent proposal was progressive or just fucking stupid.

“If there are issues in the relationship, that could happen now or in five years,” Aaron said. “So, why not just get married right now?”

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been dating for six months? Aaron is apparently engaged to Fran Fine, too. The guy said that he wanted to get married before he turned 30.

I think what it is, is that some people don’t care about the engagement. If they don’t end up getting married, big whoop. Yet, for me, if I’m going to be “engaged” to someone, you had best believe that I intend to follow through with it. Otherwise, what’s the point?

All of this being said, I can totally see a quickie engagement happening to me. If Logan had happened differently, that would be a prime example. But, maybe it still is a prime example. It shows how you can be so enamored with someone in the beginning, and how quickly things can change. We’ll see what happens with Aaron. This is so fucking weird.

I also sent out a feeler message to Kevin Sutherland in New York City – I told you I was social today – and it looks like Fire Island could be a possibility for next month. I fucking need it! I also need to get my life together, though.

Once I’m back in the city, I’m making my triumphant return to the gym. What I need right now is discipline. I need to lock myself in a gym, and exercise my life away. Going home, and doing crunches on my rug at the Witch Cave is not getting the job done. Probably because when I finish with my set, I take two steps into the kitchen and smash an entire plate of chicken and dipping sauce into my mouth. Mark my words, I will be back in the 170s by the time I go to New York City. My self-esteem, self-respect, summer, and sex life depend on it.

Goodnight xo