I feel fat.
I feel ugly.
I feel thirsty for attention, when the reality is that I can’t even fathom the idea of another person seeing me naked right now. I’m embarrassed.
I hate social media so much. Lately, I have found myself back in the familiar shame spiral of a black hole – looking at guys online, and trying to get them to notice me. I mean, how pathetic is that? It’s depressing. It needs to end now. Stop lusting. Stop creeping. Focus on your own goddamn self, and the many internal problems that need fixing.
Work was tolerable. The calm before the storm, I’m sure. Tomorrow is the big day. I am absolutely dreading it. As I was leaving work tonight, Stella approached me in the Clubhouse’s main dining room. Just like old times, the demon cornered me in plain sight of members as she got right up in my face.
“I’m going to need you to work the holiday party,” Stella barked. “It’s December 16, so make sure you’re available.”
Given that I have a flight booked to New York City that night – along with the fact that December 16 will be my last day – there’s no way in hell that I’m working the event. Obviously, I couldn’t tell Stella that.
“I need to talk to Lucy about it before I can give you an answer,” I responded.
Stella wasn’t having it.
“This won’t be a problem, right, Kurt?” she asked, taking another step closer and looking me square in the eyes without once blinking.
“Shouldn’t be!” I said, returning Stella’s glare with a big smile on my face. As in, “No, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”
I left it at that, and walked away.
If I hadn’t already made up my mind about quitting, today’s interaction with Stella would have pushed me over the edge. Tomorrow’s going to be a big, “Fuck you!” to her, too. I’m mostly excited about that. I can’t wait to finally tell that bitch to get the fuck out of my business.
The next two weeks are going to be hell. Stella certainly won’t be the last of my drama. But, you know what? Who cares! I’m giving my notice. If The Clubhouse wants me out of the building tomorrow – so be it. Honestly, I don’t care at this point. While it’s definitely going to be an uncomfortable moment with Big Bird when I deliver the news, it’s not as if I have a choice in the matter. These decisions are permanent. Not only that, but they were made a very long time ago.
As outlined in The Plan, moving back to Casa Z and quitting my job had to happen at the same time. I wasn’t going to move home and commute to my job downtown, or keep my apartment after leaving The Clubhouse. It had to happen all at once. I am so excited about it. At this point, I couldn’t chicken out even if I wanted to. Tomorrow is the two-week marker. It’s going to be messy.
Today wasn’t all bleakocity, though! Richard Tilton, the C.E.O. of Amphitheatre Entertainment, had apparently kept his word from our meeting last month, and sent off my resume to yet another VP on the company’s creative team – this time, to a woman named Jacqueline who runs Amphitheatre’s blog. Yesterday, Jacqueline sent me an email explaining who she was, and that she wanted to connect via phone to talk about writing opportunities. Of course, I said yes. We ended up scheduling a call for 1 p.m. today.
Leaving my office, I found a quiet spot in an alley behind The Clubhouse and spoke with Jacqueline over the phone for 15 minutes. We talked about school, work, and my interests – particularly regarding writing. Overall, I’d say it was a great conversation. Very casual, yet still professional. We vibed quite well together. The call ended with Jacqueline asking me to forward her some writing samples. That’s when I paused.
Although we had talked about my daily journal entries, what kind of writing would I be able to send Jacqueline that wouldn’t be mundane or wildly inappropriate? That’s when I remembered the newsletter copy I’ve been writing every week for The Clubhouse. Perfect!
After finishing the call, I drafted an email with links to six of the newsletters I’ve written, my MOMENTS party description, and even the production programme I designed for the 2012 year-end show at University of Toronto. As much as this Clubhouse job has been a nightmare, at least I have something to show for it. Literally.
Didn’t talk to Colin today. I’m trying to “play it cool.” I definitely thought about him a lot, though.
After work, I went to the gym and did my thing. Once back at the Witch Cave, I did some laundry, got stoned, and closed off my night by binge eating in bed. My laundry didn’t even dry, because I didn’t have enough quarters for another cycle. Here’s to soggy pillowcases, and one hell of a moldy, damp love life. Cheers.