Friday. Finally!
I can never tell if time is passing by at a glacial speed, or too fast. One the one hand, I can’t believe it’s almost the end of the year. However, I also feel as though I just spent an eternity chained to my desk at the wrath of Big Bird. Either way, I’m happy this week is over. We’re closer to Halloween, closer to moving home, and closer to the end of this wretched year from the fires of hell.
Woke up, did my thing, and worked my standard 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. When your boss says she’s, “Over this day,” and it’s only 10 a.m., you know it’s not going to be a pleasant one. Big Bird has the worst time management skills I have ever seen in my life – and that is coming from someone who grew up in the same house as Phillip.
Big Bird spent most of the day complaining about how much work she had to do, along with how she couldn’t trust me to do any of it. Big Bird then pissed off other people in the office when she asked them to rush some work for her at the last minute. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Meanwhile, I finished all of my work before lunch and spent the rest of my day taking naps at my desk whenever Big Bird left the office, which was approximately every 30 minutes. Sometimes, Big Bird would disappear for work-related items. Other times, it was just to socialize. Oy.
Natasha, Kate, and I had planned a group dinner tonight, which I was really looking forward to. Kate ended up cancelling this afternoon, and Natasha followed suit. I wasn’t exactly devastated, but it would have been nice to see them. Given the change of plans, I ended up staying a bit longer at The Clubhouse to rack up some extra coins. After that, I hit the gym for the seventh consecutive day. I’m proud of that commitment.
I think I’m slowly noticing improvements in my body. The key word being “slowly.” I realized today that it’s really only been one full month of consecutive exercise. Perhaps the progress will begin to show when we enter the second and third months. I didn’t realize just how much damage I had done to my body over the summer. Now, I’m working overtime to correct it.
Following my standard sauna and shower, I walked home through the mall for a change of pace. When I finally made it home around 9:30 p.m., I was absolutely starving. Truth be told, I was excited to go out for dinner with the girls tonight. I was fucking hungry! I really wanted to sink my teeth into some pizza.
It’s Friday. I was in the mood to be a bit more festive than usual. I even considered going out to a bar tonight. I think about partying a lot, actually. Smoking weed, too. Nonetheless, I’ve been quite strong lately. My willpower is working double time. I’m proud of myself. I have a bottle of wine in the fridge, so it’s not like my lack of drinking is due to a lack of supply. These days, weed can also be easily purchased on my walk home from work. I don’t want to go down that path, though. At least, not right now. I think about getting high and enjoying that feeling of mental escape, but then I remember the fact that smoking puts me at risk of erasing the progress I’ve worked so hard to achieve. I’m still staying away.
Stupidly, I stopped at the grocery store on my way home. Although I didn’t buy a pizza, I did pick up a bag of Goldfish crackers and a carton of chocolate milk – 75% of which is now sitting in my stomach. I felt a bit guilty, but not as much as I thought I would. Not vomit-level regret, at least. What a relief.
You know what? Fuck it. Today was Friday. I had a good week, and what I ate wasn’t even that bad. In fact, it was probably half of the calories that I would have consumed – and a tenth of the money I would have spent – had I gone out tonight. I wrapped up my evening by watching John Waters’ Serial Mom in bed, then masturbated and crawled under the covers.
As we get closer to Christmas – and it’s about to happen fast – I’ve been thinking more and more about the one person I don’t want to think about. Logan. Given the way our relationship formed, those thoughts are somewhat inevitable. Still, sometimes little things will spark my memory about him. Today, it was when I was scrolling through the Pottery Barn website at work. I noticed a pair of Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas pillowcases – the same ones I gave to Logan as a gift.
There were more flashbacks.
While I was at the gym, I randomly thought about how fucked up some of the stuff Logan said to me was. How, when were together in a public place, Logan would tell me that it felt as though we were the only two people in the room. That nothing else mattered in those moments. Or when Logan would tell me that I was so special – like nobody he had ever met before. Although I will now be the first to admit that perhaps my view of our relationship was somewhat unrealistic, that was some fucked up stuff to tell someone if you had plans to completely ghost on them.
So much of me feels like a fool. A mental patient, really. How could I ever have fallen so hard for Logan? Then, I remember:
“Wait a minute. Logan actually did say that stuff to me. I’m not just making it up. Logan was crazy about me. Logan had me stay with him at his apartment. Logan wanted to pay for my flight to keep me in New York City longer. Logan flew to Toronto to spend New Year’s with me. Blah, blah, blah.”
Logan treated me like gold. Yet, in the blink of an eye, I had somehow turned into a piece of garbage that he couldn’t even dispose of properly. Typical New Yorker, I suppose? I don’t know. I’m sure this won’t be the last of the flashbacks, though. My mind has a special talent for reminding me of my most painful of memories at times when I am trying to find my happiness.
It sounds slightly morbid, but I’m tempted to create a document that contains all of those painful memories. A collection of all the flashbacks that come to me and remind me of the many ways I can be hurt again.
I’m tired. My stomach hurts from the cheese, pretzel, and chocolate milk combo. I’m going to Niagara Falls with Connor and Dan tomorrow, thus risking WWIII with Evan. Should be interesting.
Goodnight xo
The bright lights of Club Zanzibar, as seen on my walk home. Yonge Street, Toronto