Started out my day by visiting God’s Waiting Room. No, not Florida – Southlake Hospital.

I really don’t like hospitals. That’s probably due to the fact that I’ve never had to spend much time in one. Not to mention, the time that I have spent in hospitals hasn’t exactly been the most positive of experiences. I’ll never forget having that slight anxiety attack the first time I visited Mai-Mai when she was sick. Hospitals are just not a pleasant place.

Fortunately, this morning’s 7 a.m. visit to Southlake was relatively painless, and fairly quick. I went in for my pre-op appointment, and was out in time for work at 9 a.m. My surgery is officially happening, and I’m good to go. I’ll be having my right pinky toe broken, part of the bone removed, and then held back together by a metal pin that’ll be running through my toe and foot for six weeks. All because of that damn hammer toe. This should be interesting. In the long run, the surgery should also help me to walk in shoes with minimal pain. Let’s hope for the best.

I did my thing at The Store, and finished early at 2 p.m. The only problem was that I had told Bryan I would hang out with him this evening, and I knew that I probably wasn’t going to feel like it by the time tonight rolled around. So, I started lying.

I told Bryan that my shift had been extended to 6:30 p.m., when in reality I went home, ate a slice of cake, and passed out until 6 p.m. Around 7 p.m., I messaged Bryan with an “update,” telling him that I had just gotten home, and that I was really sorry, but wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. Bryan understood, but never responded to my second apology text. I’m not sure what his status is.

The thing is that I actually won’t be able to see Bryan for at least a week, if that. I’ll only have a couple of days once I’m back from Cousin Ashley’s wedding in Montreal, and then I’ll have my surgery, which will leave me out of commission for quite a while. I don’t want to end things with Bryan through text. I would rather a phone call. But, maybe things are moving in that direction. I’m not sure. I don’t really care at this point. After everything that’s happened in the past year, I don’t want anything serious. I don’t want to search for relationships anymore. I really just want to be able to do whatever the fuck I want, when I want, and without worrying about making plans with someone.

For some reason, I still can’t bring myself to eat a proper full meal. I find myself eating random snacks, which is what I did after my nap until I put myself in the gym and worked out for a few hours. The gym is always a good place for me to think, too.

I still haven’t heard anything back from the two jobs I’m hoping to land interviews for. I had this idea that if I got the Toronto Film Group job – I know, getting way ahead of myself here – I would quit The Store, pack up my car, and drive across the continent again before the contract started at the end of the summer.

I want a crazy adventure. Even if I don’t get that Toronto Film Group job, I keep thinking about the idea. I love it more and more. Just stopping in random cities along the way to California, visiting friends, and eventually setting up camp at Uncle Jack’s for a month before I came back home. I need it.

Ashton, the New Zealand guy I met on Grindr while in Hawaii last year, messaged me today. Ashton has now booked his flight to Toronto, rented an Airbnb, and is getting into town tomorrow evening. I’m going to spend the night with him. I’m actually really looking forward to it. Excited? Maybe neither of those words are what I’m feeling. I just want to be penetrated. If a guy is willing to fly into my city to make that happen, he’s got to want it pretty bad, too.

I spent a while in the gym tonight, during which I listened to Britney Spears songs about boys, breakups, and oopsie daisy doo’s, and also angrily lip-synced during my entire run. That’s possibly the gayest thing I’ve ever admitted to, but it was very therapeutic. After that, I showered, masturbated, and went to bed.

Today marks four years since I broke up with RX. It’s also been four years since I got my pink triangle tattoo. I can’t believe it’s been four fucking years. Where has the time gone? And why have I spent so much of it living in the past? Writing these journal entries, and toying with the idea of writing a book, seems almost counterproductive for someone who is trying to move forward in their life. What I’m trying to do is find a way to advance into a brighter tomorrow by honoring my past, yet avoid living in it. It’s not that easy.