I think I fell asleep at my desk about six times today. Not during the same time frame, obviously. I simply seized every opportunity for rest I could whenever Big Bird’s ADHD got the best of her, and she had to leave our office for whatever reason. For example, when Big Bird had too much of her fish and chips meal at lunch, and had to go for a half-hour walk to the health food store. I was going to try and take another nap while Big Bird spent an hour scrolling through Google Maps images of Fire Island, but it was too risky.
I woke up completely exhausted this morning, but somehow still managed – as I always seem to do – to get all of my food ready and leave the Witch Cave on time. Following my usual schlep across town via transit, I got to The Clubhouse 15 minutes ahead of schedule. Of course, this simply meant that I could leave 15 minutes earlier at the end of the day. Excellent.
I will never understand how people can go out and buy a coffee every morning at Starbucks or other cafés. Are they all fucking trust fund babies or something? I couldn’t even fathom spending my money on something like that. As Natasha says, “Everyone values different things.” For example, Natasha values her titties. But, coffee? Seriously? What a waste of a paycheck.
I’m no mathematician, but bear with me while I crunch the numbers. Let’s see. A minimum of $2 a day on coffee, five times a week, four weeks in a month, 12 months in a year – that’s $480. On fucking coffee! People are fucking idiots. It’s not as if Clubhouse employees are raking in the big bucks, either. Add into the mix that half of those same people are buying their lunches every day, and you’re got some of the most financially ignorant caffeine addicts around.
Now that I think about it, people did the same thing at The Toronto Film Group and The Store, too. What don’t they understand? I can make my breakfast and lunch every day for a week on about $30. Yeah. Think about that. Call me frugal, but I’ll take my $500 of coffee money at the end of the year and buy myself something nice.
Anyway. Back to my day.
Big Bird threw a bunch of new assignments at me this morning, which should keep me busy for the week – or at least half of it. Big Bird is automatically copied on all of my emails, because she is a nosy cunt and won’t change the account settings. I wish I was kidding. Big Bird sees all message activity on my account, so nothing is sacred. I mention this, because it meant that she saw an email Lucy had sent me this afternoon, asking if we could meet today and discuss the planning of The Clubhouse’s upcoming Halloween party. Big Bird was not happy.
I feel like Cinderella not being able to go to the ball. Let me have a little fun, for fuck’s sake. If you want me to engage with members, maybe you should let me be involved in what I’ll be promoting to them. It was fucking stupid of Big Bird to react the way she did today. The whole thing put me in a bit of a bad mood. Whatever. I just have to remember that there are only 13 weeks left at that hell hole. 13 weeks. 13 weeks. 13 weeks. You can do it, baby!
I worked, fell asleep, worked, fell asleep, and worked some more until I left the office at 4:30 p.m. Of course, that was only after I made a pit stop at the bathroom to hoard some toilet paper for the Witch Cave. I wanted to go home and nap after work, but knew that it would only prolong my evening. Instead, I went straight to the gym and did my thing.
After my usual workout routine, I stopped by the grocery on the way home. The bread I bought yesterday had already expired last week. I could literally hear Mom nagging, “Check the dates! I told you so,” in my head. Oy. I stole a frozen pizza, then went home and ate the whole thing while watching an episode of Chelsea.
I still haven’t heard anything from Stefan. I’m wondering if he thinks it’s a wrap. It’s a shame, because I actually would have gone out with Stefan. Dad probably would have loved me dating a 100% Polish guy, too. It also would have meant that Natasha and I could’ve finally become the sister wives we’re destined to be, as Konrad is also a Polack. But, Stefan needs to apologize. What he said to me was rude. If Stefan ever does message me again, I will be sure to let him know. People need to be put in their place, and Stefan’s text was unacceptable behavior. I am enjoying the radio silence on the dating front, though. I feel like I am slowly returning to normal with every passing day.
I’m tired as all hell. It’s 10:30 p.m. right now, so I’m going to try and break my vicious insomnia cycle before it spirals into four-hour sleeps for the rest of the week.
I’m trying to think if there is anything else worth covering tonight. If there is, it can’t be that important. My eyes are not willing to stay open to write about anything else.
I need to call Uncle Jack and talk to him about The Plan. I’m not really looking forward to that conversation. Can’t I just show up at his doorstep in January with my car and luggage? That should be fine, right?
I feel chunky because of tonight’s pizza. That’s what happens when you eat the whole damn thing.