Dragged my ass out of bed this morning, then got my life together. It’s very typical of me to not eat anything before I fall asleep, then wake up, look in the mirror, and ask myself, “Why the fuck am I still fat?” These last five weeks have really done a number on my body.
I worked 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. at The Clubhouse today. Another uneventful day. Robyn is so scatterbrained. One simple question will lead to a 30-minute explanation about an entirely different topic. Eventually, we’ll come full circle, Robyn will answer my question, and then she’ll leave for a meeting. I think I might start calling members on the phone tomorrow. That would actually be fun, but having Robyn sit across me from while I dial is certainly not ideal.
The Clubhouse’s graphic design girl – who left for a Euro trip the day after I started – got back on Monday. Her name is Emma, and she stopped by my office while Robyn was in a meeting to see how I was liking my job. Emma is pretty chill. As with Lucy, she’s around my age, so we vibe quite well.
While visiting my office, Emma laid into Robyn. The same thing happened with Lucy! What is with these people? Apparently, I am, like, the ninth employee Robyn has gone through in the last two years. They all quit after a few months of working for Robyn. When I tell the girls that the Robyn I’m working with is completely different from the Robyn they are describing, they tell me that it must be because Robyn was spoken to about how to deal with her employees. Interesting. I think I could definitely use that to my advantage, though. And not just for the uniform issue, either. Sadly – and I don’t like to admit this, because it shows how backwards the world is – the fact that Robyn and I have male-female relationship likely has a lot to do with the differences as well. Men and women interact differently than women and women.
Anyway, I wrapped up my day without any major accomplishments, and then went home at 6 p.m. Walked home, actually. And I fucked up my foot. Nothing specific happened, but I think I overdid it with the walking. Now, at 11:30 p.m., my foot is throbbing in pain – even after taking pain medication. I really hope nothing is seriously wrong with it, and that the pain subsides by tomorrow. I have one week left with this pin. I am so excited to be free of this fucking foot. I actively avoided any sort of nap tonight, opting instead to clean my apartment and start my exercises a bit earlier than usual.
I think about all of the things I want to do with my life, and how I haven’t done any of them. I feel like a failure for not accomplishing items that I have assigned myself. My writing is a big thing. I still haven’t transcribed any of my diary entries. That kind of procrastination makes me very anxious. I know I keep putting it off. It’s been six fucking months of me saying that I’m going to work on the transcription, and I haven’t done anything. It’s as though I want another life so badly – I want so much more for myself – yet, I can’t even bring myself to work towards that goal. I’m so fucking lazy.
I’ll always remember reading something that was along the lines of, “Don’t spend eight hours a day working on someone else’s dream, and then come home and not work on your own.” That statement has always stuck with me. I don’t want to lose sight of what I want, because I have this job with The Clubhouse. However, I need the money. I have to spend my time working so that I can pay my bills. I often feel as though there simply aren’t enough hours in the day. Then I remember that even the most successful people in the world – however you want to measure success – have just as many hours in their day as I do. So, what’s my excuse? Exactly. There isn’t one. Get your fucking act together, girl. You’re a hot mess, and so is your fucking body and foot. Wake up!
A guy started chatting with me on Grindr tonight. He was so cute. However, while exchanging messages with this stranger, I realized that I might actually have a problem with the whole Grindr thing. I caught myself actively searching for a husband. This new guy started talking to me, and I wanted instant replies from him. I actually found myself getting angry when I didn’t receive a message back right away. I was obsessing over my phone to see if the guy had responded. What the fuck? I never thought I had an addictive personality, but I think I might. I don’t know.
I don’t want to analyze myself any more tonight. I just want another Tylenol, and some rest. Maybe I should read the book I ordered, which arrived last week – If You’re So Smart, Why Aren’t You Happy? Perhaps it could shed some light on my hole. Okay. Bad choice of words. Although I could use a good fucking, I mean “hole” as in the rut I am in. I want to make the most of my summer. I want to ride on the back of a motorcycle.
I exercised, rubbed another one out, and crawled into bed.
Goodnight xo