Despite my late bedtime, and even later interruption by the return of Brittany and her accompanying hook-up story, I successfully managed to get up at 8 a.m. By Vegas standards, that was a full-blown miracle. The fact that I was also able to shower, pack my things, and get on the airport shuttle bus for 9 a.m. was pure witchcraft.
Though incredibly groggy, it was sad saying goodbye to Greg and Brittany this morning. I had such an amazing time with the two of them. A part of me still can’t believe how well we all got along. I like to believe that I’m a fairly agreeable person, but I suppose one could argue that such a trait is not very hard to maintain during one-time encounters with new acquaintances. However, this was a long weekend of constant interaction with two people who, when you think about it, I didn’t really know. Considering our texting history and 90-minute date ten months ago, the situation with Greg was slightly different. As for Brittany, we were complete strangers to one another just three days ago. Now, I was getting emotional when I had to say goodbye.
I had such a fun time this weekend. That’s what it was. Vegas was so enjoyable. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard, and so often. Although the first night wasn’t exactly my best look, the rest of the trip was everything I wanted it to be. I am so grateful for how the weekend turned out. Even as I was getting on the bus and realizing how hungover I was because of those fucking Fat Tuesday drinks, I knew it was all worth it. Can I go back now?
Speaking of being hungover, that was the theme of the day. Although it was a Monday, the Sunday Blues were in full effect. I thought I was going to throw up on the airport shuttle, which felt less like a bus ride and more like the Indiana Jones attraction at Disneyland. Fortunately, I managed to keep it together. Once I made it through security at the airport, I wasted no time in getting a Jamba Juice and bagel before my flight, which I was excessively early for. Fucking airports.
Is there such a thing as an enjoyable flight home? Especially from Las Vegas. Has anyone ever enjoyed their return flight from Sin City? I sure haven’t, and today was no exception. My flight home was fucking brutal. Believe it or not, I saw my old neighbor, Ryan Jones, as soon as I boarded the plane. Ryan’s a flight attendant, but was working in the aisle opposite mine so he never saw me. I was certainly in no mood to start drawing attention to myself and my haggard appearance, either. It was hot as all hell inside the plane, as the 12 p.m. desert sun was cooking us like a baked potato. I didn’t want to use up any extra energy at the risk of sweating. As if that weren’t enough, I was also placed in a window seat beside an incredibly large American dude who had completely man-spread himself onto half of my seat, thus squishing me into the window. Oy.
I fell asleep before we took off. Once in the air, I continued to wake up approximately every 30 minutes due to a variety of reasons. I was too hot. I was too cold. I was uncomfortable. I was being smothered by my seat neighbor’s overflowing fat rolls. However, in most cases, my restlessness was due to anxiety attacks. The whole thing was really fucked up. There were multiple instances when I actually felt like I couldn’t breathe. The same thing happened on my flight home in February, too. I become completely claustrophobic on those Air Canada Rouge planes, and the feeling lasts throughout the entire five-hour trip. I suppose my hangover had something to do with my anxiety, but it was also Vegas. A rough ride home is kind of unavoidable.
Overall, this weekend’s trip was so much better than February. I love my family, but I will absolutely, 100% never go to Las Vegas with them again. Perhaps I would go with Phillip, but a future trip with Mom, Dad, aunts, and/or cousins is completely off the table. I fucking wet the bed on Friday night, and there was zero judgment from Greg and Brittany. I think that’s the moment I knew it was going to be a great trip. I felt bad about my behavior on Friday night, as it was truly outrageous and I genuinely wanted to avoid that kind of messiness. However, I managed to keep it cute during the remaining days at nights. At least, by my standards. Had I pulled Friday’s stunt with any family members, I would have been racked with guilt. I know this, as that’s exactly what happened in February.
After what seemed like 14.5 hours, the plane finally touched down in Toronto. Once I picked up my bag, checked in with Mom and Dad, and got some Tim Horton’s, I was en route to the Witch Cave. It took me about 15 seconds after walking through the door to mutter to myself, “I fucking hate this apartment.” Is this a hangover thing? It’s as though, whenever I am hungover or the least bit hazy, I want out immediately. I walk through the door of my apartment, and I hate it. I feel like garbage. Actually, that’s exactly how I feel right now.
Having dropped off my luggage at home, I ran out to the grocery store and picked up some food for the week. Standard stuff, really. Following some more unpacking and organizing, I masturbated. Now, I’m writing this in bed.
I’m ready to get back on track now. I know it’s bad to wish time away, but I’m looking forward to September being over. Or at least Kate’s wedding having passed. The wedding is the last event on my calendar right now. Once that’s over, I feel like a lot of pressure will be lifted from my life. Will it, though?
Dare I say it, but I actually think work might be at a point where things will start to get better. I’m optimistic. Unfortunately, my money situation is absolutely fucked. I just checked my credit cards and savings account, and I’m basically bankrupt. Fortunately, I have some money coming in soon. My next Clubhouse paycheck should clear up most of my debt.
I’m feeling very overwhelmed right now. At the same time, I also feel as though I’m at a point where there are only a few things that are out of control. With most of those issues slated to improve in the near future, I’m somewhat hopeful. I still think I want to move out of my apartment, though. If I can do so by the end of the year, I think that will put me in a good spot for 2017.
I can’t believe it’s already mid-September. Funny how you can trick yourself into thinking things will get better. If it’s possible, I think I’m actually in a worse place mentally than I was in January. Not to mention physically. That’s the other piece of this shit-show that I’m trying to work on. With my schedule having calmed down, I think I might actually be in a position where I can lend more focus to exercising daily and eating healthy, thus ditching this extra weight. It’s a huge problem for me. I know that if I can improve my body – along with everything else – I’ll be happier.
What’s frustrating to me is that I can’t ever have everything good at the same time. My body was great in the spring, but I was unemployed. Then I was employed, but the job was shitty. Now, work might be improving, but my body has an extra 20 pounds of fat on it. Not to mention my empty bank account, fake teeth, drinking problem, and mood swings. But, I can fix it. I’m going to.
I’m ready for bed now. I keep thinking about Vegas, and how important the trip was for me. It really does feel as though this weekend was my chance to re-do my February trip, which was the tipping point of my downward spiral. I’m not looking to change the past – mainly because it’s not going to happen. However, a part of me wants to believe that having a successful second chance with this whole Mariah Carey concert and Vegas trip is a sign that perhaps I can have a second chance with everything else that has gone wrong this year. Maybe things aren’t past the point of no return. I can have a comeback moment. If I work hard enough and maintain focus, I will succeed in everything I want for myself.
I think my hangover has passed for the day. I’m feeling hopeful. I’m also feeling fat as fuck. I still haven’t properly digested any of my Vegas food. That can be solved in time, though.
Here’s to being positive, and remaining grateful for second chances. Thank God for second chances – and third, and fourth, and fiftieth chances, too. Thank you.