Every time I type out a new month, it makes me physically ill. Partly because I can’t believe time is passing by so quickly, but, mostly, because I don’t feel as though I have made any sort of progression this year. I’m still at this damn standstill. Despite my continued efforts to move forward in my life, nothing seems to be happening. I guess the only thing to do is to continue trying. What else can I do, really?
Last night marked one week since I last smoked weed. That’s something I’m actually quite proud of. My eating habits haven’t exactly calmed down, but they’re getting there. Next up is alcohol.
When I went to the Hassle Free Clinic last week, the doctor and I talked about me having symptoms of anything. Otherwise known as, “Why are you here?” Although the visit was mostly precautionary, there was something I wanted to mention. To be honest, sometimes I notice a weird substance on the rim of my toilet bowl after I flush down my morning pee. It looks like semen, but considering I ejaculate into my hand and rinse it off in the sink, I know it’s not that. Also, I like to rub one out before bed. Any remaining jizz that might come out during a pee would have been long gone by the next morning, right?
The doctor at the Hassle Free said the goop was likely nothing. However, as a precaution, he sent me home with some antibiotics. Honestly, God bless the Hassle Free Clinic. The doctor gave me a week’s worth of medication for free, and I don’t even have to take them if I don’t want to. I’d like to be on the safe side, though. I also figured that a stint on antibiotics might help jumpstart my abstinence from drinking. So, why not?
Anyway, that’s how my day started. I swallowed my first pill, just after I had recovered from my hangover. I’m at a point now where I really don’t want to drink. I think the trick in sustaining that mentality is to remember the “morning after” feeling. Otherwise, it’s the same vicious cycle. Nighttime will roll around, I’ll have recovered, forgotten all about my shitty morning, and want to reach for the bottle again.
Bryan messaged me early this morning. He was getting back from British Columbia around 4 p.m. today, and wanted to see if I was available to hang out at night. I was in no mood to put on a happy face. I scrambled for an excuse. I ended up going with, “Naomi is in town, and I told her we would hang out.”
Bryan took the bait. I was off the hook. That being said, I really do need to end things with Bryan. If not for the human decency of no longer wasting someone’s time, then simply because I want to stop lying to him. This always happens with guys. I start making up elaborate excuses as to why I can’t hang out, instead of just being honest about how I feel. What am I supposed to say, though? Just a flat out, “No?”
On the other hand, Bryan is also away a lot. When I take that into consideration, I become apprehensive to end things. I always want to see how things will be when Bryan gets back from his travels, even though I know I’m probably not going to change my mind.
After lying to Bryan, I continued on with my day. I took one step outside into the gloomy weather and realized the city was actually a Maid of the Mist boat tour. I was going to get soaked. Oh, well. I figured the rain would let up a bit. Or, at the very least, add to my moody Sunday vibe as I walked around the city, listening to my “R&B Ladies” playlist.
This afternoon’s first stop was lunch. I went to Otto’s Berlin Döner in Kensington Market. Without realizing it, I sat in the exact same spot Logan and I sat in when he visited me in January. Great memory right there. I did find a cute guy on Grindr while I was eating, though. He’s yet to respond to my message. Maybe my The Nanny collage profile picture is intimidating?
I continued walking across College Street, about as far west as one would want to go. Eventually, I slowly started making my way back to the Witch Cave, stopping at a great bakery along the way. I also began to realize more and more that I want to move to the College Street West area. I really don’t like where I live anymore. I don’t like Toronto in general, but that’s an entirely different story. Am I doomed to spend the rest of my life in Toronto? I need to get out. Where would I go? Another thought for another night, I guess.
Naomi messaged me this afternoon. After her flight delays last night, she finally made it into the city for her work stint, but was jumping on a return flight to Vancouver around 6 p.m. She asked if I could give her a ride to the airport. Naturally, I was so far west at that point that I never would have made it to my car in time. I had to say no. Bummer, though. I would have really liked to see her.
Today was the walk that never ended. I trekked all over the city. Probably about 15km to 18km in total. Even more impressive was the fact that I ended up at the gym, where I did my normal routine. Well, most of it. Considering my phone died and I had already walked so much, I jumped off the treadmill a little early.
I walked back to my place after a pit stop at the grocery store, and then had a full-on feast at the Witch Cave. I felt so sick afterwards. To relax my blistered feet, I took a bath and continued to read one of my Chelsea Handler books. Her stories make me want to write a book of my own so bad. The more I read Chelsea’s books, the more I remember all of the ridiculous stories of my own that I have to tell. Some of them make me laugh just thinking about them. I mean, I could write an entire book based on my Florida summers alone.
I went a little off the handle with some Instagram posts tonight, both of which were a bit telling. At least, to me they were. I suppose that was the point, though.
The first post – technically a “remix” of last night’s video – was another direct shot at Logan. The Aristocats on a roof, with a clip of Mariah Carey’s “The Roof” playing in the background. As the caption, I used an emoji that Logan once told me was his favorite. The hammer and pick, which obviously holds no relation to the video/song. I doubt Logan will pick up on it.
Interpretation is one thing I really do enjoy about social media. Nobody will ever really understand what a post means, you know? I suppose that goes with any sort of art. Not that I consider my Instagram account an art gallery, but you know what I mean. Being able to express myself creatively with those videos means a lot to me.
I think about the lyrics to “The Roof” quite often. They remind me of my time with Logan. Ironically, we did have a moment on my rooftop. We kissed beneath the rain, and I melted in his arms. I’ve also had dreams where I told Logan that I loved him. Sometimes, I wasn’t even sleeping.
“My apprehension blew away
I only wanted you
To taste my sadness
As you kissed me in the dark”
— Mariah Carey, “The Roof”
The second Instagram post was something that struck me much harder than I thought it would. I merged a clip from Cinderella with Janet Jackson’s “What About” – a song that explicitly references an abusive relationship. The resulting combination was something I found fairly upsetting to watch, but I posted it anyway.
The Cinderella/Janet video is how I feel sometimes. How I feel treated. Not just by men, or by people, but with life right now. It was a weird video to post. Sort of sad. Violent, even. Someone in the comments section of the post laughed at it, which proved my theory about the videos being subjective. Oh, well. Maybe someone will find it therapeutic in some form. I know I do.
It could be due to the weather, or maybe the 75lbs of food I ingested today, but I feel gross. I feel heavy. I feel like there’s a weight on me that keeps getting heavier by the minute. I wanted to take my Xanax medication tonight, but decided not to. I climbed into bed and turned off the lights.
I wish Logan would contact me.
“Just then I thought:
What about the times you lied to me?
What about the times you said no one would want me?
What about all the shit you’ve done to me?
What about that, what about that?
What about the times you yelled at me?
What about the times I cried? You wouldn’t even hold me
What about those things?
What about that, what about that?”
— Janet Jackson, “What About”