I’m writing this journal entry at 11 p.m. I’m having trouble remembering last night’s dreams, but I know that they were really strange again. I’m guessing that the Tylenol I’ve been taking for my foot pain has something to do with my nightly visions, but also the fact that I continue to write about certain people just before I go to bed. Even though I forgot what the dreams were about, I know that one of them involved Logan.

I was awake before my alarm again this morning. After rolling out of bed, I got myself together and made it to The Clubhouse respectfully early. This 10 a.m. start time is pretty awesome. I don’t feel like the walking dead when I get to work. Of course, the problem with a later start is that it means a later end to my day. 6 p.m. does not come quickly.

Today was probably worse than yesterday in terms of enjoying my job. In fact, I was quite miserable for most of the day. Robyn and I share an office. Well, it’s actually less of an office and more of a large closet. The space is barely big enough for both of our desks, let alone my ever-expanding body. The two of us work facing one another, but with multiple computer monitors between us.

Despite the fact that the air conditioning in our office doesn’t work, Robyn keeps the door closed. On top of that – as if a sweaty, oily version of me wasn’t enough – Robyn also keeps old fruit on her desk, which has attracted a colony of fruit flies that are trapped in the closet with us. That’s not all, though.

Robyn keeps our office door closed because the hallway is too noisy for her. Okay, fine. I can understand that. In fact, I love my quiet time. However, Robyn then tries to cover up the hallway noise by playing horrible Top 40 music on the radio as she chomps down on her mid-day vegetable snack with an open mouth. Oy.

To be honest, the only major issue I have with The Clubhouse is the heat. You know that feeling when you’re moist? Like, just fucking hot? You’re sweaty, your clothes are sticking to you, and everything is just so fucking irritable? That’s what working in my office is like. Just give me some goddamn air conditioning, and we’ll be okay.

Robyn was trying to bust through a lot of her own work today, which meant I essentially observed her keyboard strokes for eight hours. When Robyn asked me to do certain things on my own, I quickly realized that I had no idea how to use Excel. I had to Google everything Robyn asked me to do. Who the fuck is Microsoft? I don’t know her.

That was my day. When 6 p.m. finally rolled around, I didn’t grab no shoes or nothing, Jesus. I ran for my life, and got on the streetcar.

Last night, Veronica had asked me if I wanted to join her crew at the AGO for tonight’s First Thursdays event – that ticketed booze and art party, which Natasha and I went to last year. This month’s theme was “Queer Art” for Pride. I really wanted to go, but ended up passing on Veronica’s invite. For once, money wasn’t the deciding factor – it was this damn foot. Even now, I’m still a little mad at myself for not going. However, I also have to watch what I’m doing with my foot. Going to an art gallery where I would be standing for four hours wouldn’t have been the smartest decision. Still, the event would have been a good opportunity to soak up some art and culture while being social. Oh, well.

Damn this fucking foot. My toe felt better today, but it still hurts like hell. I did regain a little bit of hope in humanity today, though. While on the subway this morning, a woman around my age offered me her seat as soon as she saw my bandaged foot. I didn’t end up taking the seat, but I really appreciated the gesture.

Listen. It’s not like I’m completely disabled here. Or, as Granny would have said, “A cripple.” My foot is a mess, but I can still handle things on my own. Nevertheless, nothing makes you sympathize and understand the struggles of someone who is severely handicapped more than being injured yourself. I’m fortunate. I know that. I’m so far removed from many people’s struggles. However, as someone who is slightly disabled for the time being, I will say that all we want is for people to get the fuck out of our way. Don’t get in our space. Let us take our time moving. If I’ve learned anything from this recovery experience, it’s to practice greater patience and understanding for the injured and disabled.

I made dinner at home tonight. After watching some TV and masturbating, I pushed through some floor exercises for an hour and a half before bed. Speaking of masturbating – it had been a while. I mean, not, like, a week or anything. But, I’ve definitely noticed a drastic change in my sex drive. I have no doubt that my lack of libido is due to my anti-depressant medication. I got off tonight. I enjoyed my moment. However, it was an active decision for me masturbate. Sort of like a “to-do” item, as I knew rubbing one out would put me in a better mood. Otherwise, the thought of masturbating doesn’t really pop up these days.

My mind wanders a lot. I’ll be lying on my bed, and drift into thoughts about 1,000 different things – and people – before I eventually snap back to reality. Such daydreaming happens at The Clubhouse, too. In fact, the same thing used to happen when I was in school. I’d ask a teacher for help. They’d walk over to my desk, pick up my pencil, and start explaining a problem to me while writing on my paper. I would get so wrapped up in the thought of something random – like the rings on the teacher’s hand – that I’d completely tune out and miss what the teacher was trying to explain to me.

That teacher-student scenario happened a couple of times with Robyn today. In the middle of Robyn’s instructions, I would drift into a daydream about someone or something – we all know who I’m talking about, but I don’t want to mention his name anymore – because something would have triggered the thought. Then, I’d snap back to reality with zero clue as to what Robyn had asked of me. At that point, I couldn’t even ask for clarification. It would have been too obvious that I wasn’t listening.

I’m bored. That’s why I wish I went to the AGO tonight. It would have balanced out my day. Oh, well. Exercise is important too, I guess.

I should call Mom. I miss her, and want to update her on things. It’s funny how I always miss Mom when I’m away from her.

Goodnight xo