In typical weekend fashion, I was up earlier today than yesterday. Not that it was a monumental accomplishment. I mean, yesterday was slightly dramatic. I can’t remember the last time I slept until 2-fucking-30. That was ridiculous. Necessary on all levels, but ridiculous nonetheless.
As one does, I rolled out of bed, cleaned, vacuumed, and somehow managed to get to the gym fairly early. Opting to forego a repeat of yesterday’s pre-workout spark up, I was fairly lucid for the duration of my routine. Once again, there was no sight of Leonardo today. This is leading me to believe that I have a one-shot curse on my life. Maybe that’s just life in general, though. You have one shot to do something. If you aren’t quick enough to make a decision and take action in that exact moment, there goes your chance. Bummer. The same thing happened with that other cute guy I used to see at the gym, too. There hasn’t been a sighting for two months now. What if we were destined to be together? What will our unborn children say!
On the way home from the gym, I stopped by the grocery store and pressed my luck once again. Seriously. I am pushing it. This time, I precioused $40 worth of food – enough grub to make myself dinner every night this week. I feel bad. At the same time, that guilt quickly morphs into excitement when I eat the fancy cheese I wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford.
What’s most baffling with all of this preciousing buffoonery is that, despite my ongoing scams, I still struggle with my savings account. Imagine if I actually bought the food? Or paid full price for my metro pass? Or bought toilet paper? Or paid for my cell phone bill? The thing is, I am fully aware that I have been living in a bubble of self-sufficiency. It’s hard to explain.
Are you still naive if you are aware of your naivety? I like to think that I am fairly self-sufficient. For the most part, I am. However, I also know that my independence is hanging on by a thread. Well, a few threads. If one of those threads were to be cut off, I would need to make some major changes in my spending – i.e., no more new leather jackets, etc.
Once at the Witch Cave, I wasted no time in getting really high. I prefer to finish my weed stash by the end of the weekend, so that the temptation is gone when Monday rolls around. Prior to blazing, I had every intention of venturing outside in no particular direction to get some fresh air before eventually bringing some food home for dinner. Although I did go for a walk, I only made it a few blocks down the street before I had to seek refuge in a Shoppers Drug Mart. It was freezing! Colder than this witch’s titty, even. Naturally, I went straight to the food section at Shoppers and ended up leaving with a carton of chocolate milk and a tub of mint chocolatey chip ice cream. What is “chocolatey?” Is that what you call fake chocolate? I don’t understand.
As a special Sunday treat, I decided that tonight’s feast would be sponsored by Chipotle Mexican Grill. After braving the elements for a few more blocks, I picked up my food and then trekked back to my apartment. I hate fucking winter. I love Chipotle, though. Back home, I smoked again, gorged on a double-chicken burrito with chips and guac, then proceeded to pass out from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m.
Now, it’s midnight. I need to go to bed. I also just rose from the dead and walked to the kitchen like a creature from the deep, reached into the fridge, and guzzled back a carton of chocolate milk as if I’d just returned from a year in the Mojave Desert. Needless to say, I’m feeling a little queasy right now.
I thought a lot about RX today. I wanted so badly to message him to do something. I was going to, but then I reminded myself that I have done this exact same thing so many times. This has been going on for so long. Nothing ever moves forward. I think back to last November, when I was left crying in my car on the drive home after taking RX to dinner and a movie. I felt so humiliated that I had just put myself out there like that, only to be so badly rejected. Until there is some reciprocation and movement from RX, it’s not going to matter how much I try. I look and feel like such a clown when this happens. Sad. Pathetic.
Goodnight xo
@yalittlenasty Instagram post from this morning.
“I’m Your Baby Tonight” - Whitney Houston
A standard Sunday iMessage from Grumpy – a guy I met in Florida two years ago.
Dinner. Come and get it! Witch Cave, Toronto