Summary of a Pastry Chef.

So its finally done.
I'm finally here, living the grand life of a Toronto citizen - shitting my pants everytime a stumbling crazy man approaches me on Shourborne (and John said that I lived in the ghetto, holy fuck. I got nothing on his part 'a town), and marvelling at how fast people have learned to txt msg on their mother fecking cell phones. Click, click, click.

Andrew took me on the bus runs yesterday.
I don't like taking the bus, especially to school and work. George Brown is in a decent area of Toronto, but getting to the decent part requires a trip through the dodgy part and one shouldn't have a difficult time imagining the type of weirdos whom ride the rocket. The same logic applies to work. I'm taking a bus to Wal Mart in Scarborough. Enough said.
But we went, and spent close to nine hundred dollars on uniforms and books (I almost cried), and then went to his parent's house for Hamburger Helper. I can't deny free food, even if it is ground beef with noodles.

The Wal Mart in Scarborough is oddly enough the one place here that makes me feel comfortable. Despite all the lunatics meandering through the isles (I do not bestow that title only on the customers, employees are equally cracked), its a giant place that feels familiar to me because THANKFULLY, Wal mart has adopted the "being different is bad" philosophy and so therefore, all of their stores are exactly the same, or very fucking similar. I found the pepper yesterday because of this familiar atmosphere (hint: it's not in Pantry).
Everyone there seems to be just a little more angry than the store in Fort Erie. People look very tired and depressed and I suppose I can't blame them - it is Wal Mart after all. Even the Assistant Manager looked sad. Mind you, all he was doing was placing advertisements in the Department Manager Mail Boxes and that is a sad job, but not in the boohoo sense.
I had a brief chat with him about when I'm supposed to be starting and was completely taken aback when he asked if I could start that evening. I suppose I could have, it would have put me in a better mood, but that 'being loyal to Andrew' mechanism kicked in and so I regretfully declined. I like the Assistant Manager though, he seems nice.

And so the night ended in sleepy oblivion, only for me to get up four hours later to attend my college orientation, which was a GIANT waste of my friggin time.
George Brown, while it is the best chef school in Canada, is quite possibly the most poorly organised facility I have ever seen. I am constantly baffled by the lack of communication between the employees and how stupendously slow they are at sending out important documentation on time (I attended my orientation today and also received my orientation startup CDRom in the mail today as well). Dumbasses.
So the orientation was a flop. The only information I received during my time spent there today was all the information that I should have gotten in a package from the college. Unfortunately, they're all just a bit too daft to put two and two together and so I had to waste almost six hours of my day standing in lines and waiting for idiots when all they needed to do was print out a one page summary of, "Heyfirstyears, you'restupidsothisiswhatyouneedtodo" page. I did get a 2kg block of Lindt Chocolate though. Chocolate, and a lot of headaches.

And so now I'm sitting in the condo, faced with the decision of what to do next. I should probably clean, maybe set up the drafting table, possibly find something to make for dinner, but I'm too fecking tired. School and the rest of my life is going to be a challenge it seems.

The anxiety that revolved around my decisions for the past two weeks has calmed, but not enough for me to be completely comfortable.
It seems that the obvious is becoming more obvious and the more I think about it, the more my guilt kicks in and then that nagging voice in the back of my head belts out,

"Just try stupid!"

And I sorta slip back into a borderline comfort zone.

I've never lived with a man before. Not a "man" anyway. My father always put down the toiltet seat. He was never a slob and usually cleaned his messes with great flare and purpose.
Andrew on the other hand, is quite slobbish. I sincerely feel bad saying that about him because I know how hard he's trying to not be, but each time I look at him I look away in mild disgust. His size never bothered me before and I'm sure it wouldn't bother me now if he didn't play the part of a fat, messy pig so well. His belly is growing and I wouldn't mind this, but it's outgrowing his shirts and therefore, hangs out of his shirts. His pants are too tight, his clothes are always wrinkled and messy and now, full of holes. He doesn't seem to care that he looks so bad and it's starting to be embarrassing for me. Its hard to introduce him as my boyfriend.
He horks out of car windows, blows snot out of one nostril, burps loudly in completely improper places and lays around in his underwear, drinking beer and eating fattening food and I am completely disgusted by it. So disgusted in fact that when he has sex with me, I think of someone else only 'cause if I don't, I dry up faster than a puddle in a hundred degree weather.

And obviously, I feel guilty about that and I should. But how do you tell your boyfriend that?

So now I'm dead tired. Confused and guilt ridden because of my circumstance with my boyfriend and desperately wanting a man that I cannot have.

That's right. I can't get him out of my head. And now that I know I'll more than likely only see him once or twice a year, am sulking over him badly.
Everytime I think of him my head starts to pound and I think to myself,

"You retard, he's not worth it. You can't have him and you shouldn't want him, so stop being so lovey dovey and get on with it."

But I can't. He just doesn't leave my head.

Yes I am fucked with men. Yes I should probably stop. Yes I realise that this is not healthy. I promise to fix it, as soon as I get over him.

Late Night Phone Chats.

I talked to a friend last night that I haven't seen in years. I knew him from highschool, through a friend. We never really hungout much, actually we didn't hang out at all, we just spoke on the phone.

The one time that I did meet him I think he said something to the extent of:

"I never realised how big your tits were until the car seatbelt was between them. Holy fuck."

That's the most stunning thing that I can remember about Sean.

We both attended the same college, but still never became close friends. He was taking computer crap and I was off being an art fag. We never saw eachother.
By the time our second year came around, he was a pothead that I had no interest in at all and I was a stuckup graffiti writer's muse and so again, we never really spoke.

He came online now and then and would always send me a message to say hello, but it was hard to talk to him 'cause the only thing that he would want to discuss would be sex and the size of my chest, or how cute I sound on the phone and while said topics may be flattering in small doses, they're not constantly.

So again, my interest in him was lost.

Last night he messaged me. It was late, I had just gotten home from work and I was desperately hungry. I ended up calling him only 'cause I didn't want to sit on the computer and we chatted the night away.

Sean's turned into a decent fellow. His voice is comforting to listen to, he has his head screwed on the right way now. He makes a decent salary and he seems to be happy, which makes me feel good because while he was a bit of a dolt, he deserved to be happy.

He said that he was going to miss me when I moved away to Toronto.
While I don't understand how he could miss me because I would have to be someone constant in order to be missed, the sentiment was nice 'cause he was the first person that's said it to me that hasn't been a huge fucking twat about it.

I think after last night's chat, I'll probably miss Sean too.

Bubbles.

Every time I see a face I want to punch it. A shot between the eyes, knock 'em dead, perfect. Every time someone opens their mouth to spew out absentminded advice to soothe my momentary frustration, I want to stick my foot in it. Shut them up, knock out a few teeth, perfect.

The one person that I relied on in Fort Erie lied to me about everything.

EVERYTHING.

And it's brutal 'cause he was seeping into my brain, making me think that I was fucked and that I may possibly have some sort of masochistic-bad-decision-making-glitch in my head and I'm sure he's right about that partially, but even if he was it doesn't make a difference now because he LIED ABOUT EVERYTHING.
I trusted him and everytime I think, 'Well, he was concerned for my well being, I stumble into another new lie and it just fucking stings. I don't understand how someone could be selfrighteous enough to fuck with my life so badly. And unfortunately, that's all I can say about the whole situation 'cause everytime I open my mouth to attempt to understand why he's doing what he's doing, he goes and tells and a whole new mess explodes in my face.

I hate him.

A couple months ago Andrew gave me stackers to help me stay awake at work. I'll never take them again 'cause the whole night I felt like I was drifting on a fucking bubble. I was awake but I don't remember the night, or what I did, or how I felt - Just floating on a bubble.
Oddly enough, I feel the same way now. I just feel like I'm floating through life. I realise that things are happening around me, but there's no connection to them. Just the funny breeze of indecision and stress blowing through my hair.

My Illustration Prof. died last week. I found out yesterday.
I'm not grieving because I don't know how to. I just see his face in my head and think about his funny voice and I feel strange. I'll never see him again and that startles me because he was so young and he never should have died.

Not yet anyway.

Moral Decency.

So the plan is to stick with my decisions and just DO WHAT I'M SUPPOSED TO DO.
Andrew's dad says,

"What's the big deal? When you propose and she says, "yes" you've already made the decision to get married. You don't freak out about the wedding day."

Fair enough. But I'm not getting married.

... And what the fuck. Hedley has good harmonies.

Anyway, he's right.
I do just need to grow a set and move in with him, go to school and see what happens from there. As much as everything in my gut is saying, "don't do it!" I honestly don't have anything to loose if I do. I get an education, I may possibly fall into a job that I enjoy, I may find that I actually am madly in love with my boyfriend and I do want to spend the rest of my life with him. Chances are though that, that scenario is not going to happen.

Right now most things just feel dead, especially my relationship with Andrew. I've expressed to him my concern over, "freeloading," but he says it's alright. Obviously I cannot support myself on a part time job at Wal Mart and obviously he knows this. He also knows that I'm scared shitless that him and I may be over come April, but he's ok with it, so what the hell! Free room and board, a thirty-two inch flat screen tv, free internet, a warm shower and a semi-comfortable soggy bed. How can I say no to it?

Oh yeah, moral decency. That whole using someone when you don't think you're in love with them anymore is sorta picking at the back of my brain.

Shit.

Ball of Emotions.

My head hurts.
I can feel the tension in my eyes whenever I move them from side to side and it just fucking hurts. Three months have been spent second guessing my decisions, my boyfriend, my friendships, my family and most of all, my sanity. I don't need drugs to know what it feels like to have scarmbled eggs for a brain.

I'm angry.
Every time I see Josh, I want to rip his pretentious eyeballs out with a palletjack.

"I did it to help," he whines.

And I'm going to lodge my box cutter north of your left temple to help you. Maybe it will ease you into the desperate and pointless oblivion you've been trying to maintain for the last twenty-four years of your life. MAYBE.

I'm confused.
While I can see how Josh may think he's done the right thing and just maybe, it will prevent me from fucking someone I shouldn't, it's only a temporary fix.
The conversation I had with Andrew last night went like this:

"If the best way you can show me that you love me is by scrapping glue off of a table, our relationship is fucked."
"What else do you want me to do Anna? I drive four hours to see you, I pay for everything, I DO EVERYTHING."
"ANDREW, you knew when you started dating me that distance was an obstacle in our relationship that you'd have to deal with because I can't afford it. Do not tell me that you getting in your car to come see me is a confession of your love, it's a confession of your dick wanting to get wet."
"It's all about you isn't it? It's always about you."
"Don't you get it Andrew? If you told me that you loved me, if you told me that you woke up every morning and smiled because you had me for a girlfriend, you wouldn't have to scrape glue off of a table."
"I don't like saying stuff like that."
"Maybe you should learn to like it."

And so naturally I turn to the outlet who doesn't make me feel like a business proposition and say,

"Hey, I know you're married and I know that you could never give me anything more than a cup of coffee on a mutual day off during both of our busy schedules, but you make me feel better than he does so lets just fuck."

It's funny, 'cause I thought that my little pow-wow with Andrew last night would have solved the issues, but instead it's just made them so much more, 'forest for the trees-esque.' I'd really just like to get out now. Now that I've realised that when I move to Toronto, I'll see my boyfriend less than I do now. Chances are, the most I will see him is the fifteen minute time lapse where he climbs into bed with me before I have to get up to go to school.

Yay for being a long term fuck buddy.

I'm sad.
I think of Andrew and I think of all the time I've spent with him and I guess I'm just a little baffled that all of it should probably come to an end.

At the end of this week, I officially do not have a home. My dad wants me out, no, correction, my dad's wife wants me out. I will not live with my mother's emotional and physical abuse and living in Andrew's condo as a kept fuck toy isn't exactly my idea of a home.

So, I'm just sad.

The scariest thing out of all of this? Working at Wal Mart is the only thing that makes me happy.

Unloading.

There's a scene in the Triplets of Bellville where the cyclist's mother runs over his legs with an old push mower to loosen his muscles for the Tour de France. If one was to take said action and apply the outcome to my real body, in real life, the product one would gather would be how my body feels at this current moment.

I feel like I've been run over by a mother fucking lawnmower. But hey, I've lost six pounds in three days, so it's completely worth it.

I would be an unloader for the rest of my life if the paycheck wasn't three dollars an hour and if it wasn't for Wal Mart.
The job sucks ass. You're constantly running, in a non air conditioned warehouse, struggling to move two thousand pieces of freight in a very small window of time with two other people. It's a lot to take on, and your body pays the price for it after. If I wasn't moving to Toronto and I decided to take this job on full time, I would be ripped. Completely.

A Rambling Pile of Shite.

When you post a rambling pile of shite on your blog you never expect it to be anything more than a rambling pile of shite. That's all I ever wanted it to be anyway. Definitely not a window into my existence, or a mighty confession or an outlet for someone to appease their frustrated lifestyle.

So the conclusion of the day is that: Either blogs are fucking stupid, or people are fucking stupid. I'm banking on the latter, but because I have to hold some sort of decency through this whole mess, I will push my anger towards the former.

Fucking blogs.

I'm so embarrased.
Maybe there might have been a time where it was acceptable for him to see the diddums side of me, but now was definitely not it.
I can't possibly express how small I feel. I have no problem with wearing my heart on my sleeve, but a giant, flashing neon one, beckoning all from far and wide to read into my very fragile emotions is a little too much of an advertisement. Especially when you have to stare these people in the face every day.

There's absolutely no dignity left in me. I feel like a public execution. The evil stigma that wasn't there exploded like a twenty-five ton nuclear bomb.

So now I'm not entirely sure what I've lost. I think he thinks I'm insane, and I honestly can't fault him for that. He walked into all the overbearing and absolutely asinine fears of a twenty-three-year old female and he never should have. EVER. But I understand why he did and I at least hope he found it flattering, because DAMN, that was a flattering post.
I should probably take down this blog completely, but unfortunately, it is the one thing that levels my mind on most days.

Meddling is the work of Satan. Masturbate all you want, meddling is what kills the kittens.

Equation Solved.

Maybe it was Jeff Kimber that did it.
Maybe it was him that didn't give me the right amount of attention. Maybe I shouldn't give him the credit, it should probably go to my father. He definitely wasn't around. Or maybe it was the multitudes of other men that didn't want me for anything else other than sex. Josh, James, Kyle, Ian, Mike. Yeah, them and all the other nameless guys that I can't remember.

Sorta boyfriends that were only there for sex. I guess sex was the only time I was supposed to feel special. Obviously that's fucked.

I cannot be singular with men. I do not know why. I thrive off of the attention they give when they want to be with me. I can't help it. I don't know why. And it wasn't until Friday's email from Josh that I realised how big of a problem it was. Or maybe, it wasn't until then that it started to bother me.
I spoke to Andrew about it and he said that it was normal and that eventually, when our relationship reached the point, he wanted to have an open one. And then my mind just sorta trailed off into oblivion.

No, actually, it just turned off.

I wasn't hurt, nor surprised, just off. How do you handle that?
"In our future, when we don't get married, and we need something else in our relationship, I want us both to fuck other people. I don't think it's bad, society thinks its bad. It will be good for us." I guess I'm not as morally bankrupt as I thought.

He showed me his tattoos yesterday. We sat and spoke about my relationship. We sat and spoke about his relationship.
I like him and not the way I liked Josh, I sincerely and honestly, "like him" and want him to be more than a friend. There isn't that weirdness that existed with Josh, the pressure from his wife, or the evil stigma surrounding it. I would pursue him if he wasn't married. But he wants to pursue it even though he is married and once again, diddums has come full circle.

Thank you for making me feel special, but I should probably stop this now before I fuck myself up that extra degree.

Who woulda thunk that the almighty diddums would need to go to fucking therapy over this shit?

But that's just it. I don't feel anything anymore. Nothing. The only things that make me cry are Disney Movies, Most Extreme House Makeover and a severe lack of sleep. Everything else is just sorta crap.

I've never been so confused about so many things in my life. My moral beliefs are gone, the structure has been pulled out from underneath me.
I don't believe in marriage anymore. I don't believe in love. I don't believe in people and I definitely don't believe that a man would ever want me for anything else other than a blowjob and for once, that's not because of my low self-worth, its because that seems to be the only thing they ever want from me.

Good Gravey.

The condo last weekend was a fucking mess.

In the span of 14 hours I reorganized the pot racks, cleaned out the kitchen cupboards, cleaned out the stove, washed all the dishes, cleaned out the pantry, reorganized the pantry, cleaned the bathroom, hung the showercurtain, laid down a peel&stick tile floor (the kitchen looks hot), cleaned the bedroom, made the bed, cleaned both upstairs closets and attempted to make the livingroom look like anything other than a pile of furniture.

Oh, and I cooked dinner too. It was divine. Blow me working class man. Martha Stewart, eat your heart out.

Anyway, I had a melt down because of the catastrophe, which ultimately lead Andrew to freak out, which made me be like, "Why the fuck am I moving in with this tard? My relationship is over!"

And of course it wasn't, I was just being dramatic.

So now I'm in the process of putting all of my shit into boxes so it can be moved on Wednesday. My general thoughts of this production are: "Shit, I have a lot of shit." and "Dust sucks." and "My stepmom is a spoiled cunt."

Why is my stepmother a spoiled cunt you ask? Because she wants to put a god damned dresser back in the room in like two days, but I need the fucking space and she's completely insistent that it goes in there NOW.

See. CUNT.

At least wait till I move the fuck out to redecorate.

Ruins.

My relationship with Josh has finally reached the, "fucked-up-beyond-repair" status.

The whole scenario that I posted about last has seemed to be a gigantic misunderstanding. However, misunderstanding or not, the feelings that I own regarding the situation and it's events are hard to let go of. I don't know why.
Josh is confused about a lot of things and I can't blame him in the slightest. I don't think I'll ever be able to articulate properly why I can't hangout with him anymore because I don't think it's possible.

My relationship with Josh has gone from, "nerdy-weird-saturday-afternoon-gaming" to, "just-simply-fucked" and this is why:
In my last email from Josh he confessed that his wife has decided that it is ok for him and I to have sex and while they are not in an open relationship because that's not what he wants, she understands if we decide to fuck for kicks.

Out of all the insanity, out of all the misunderstandings, out of all the mind-numbing stupidity that my relationship with Josh has been over the past year and a half, this has tipped me over the brink and has left me flat out stupid.
I don't understand how a woman as insecure as Ann can decide that it is alright for her husband to screw a girl who he has deemed his, "dream woman." I don't understand how all the second guessing and the ridiculous accusations of my character have just randomly vanished. I don't understand how its ok for him to be ok with this decision and I definitely cannot understand how he expects me to be ok with it, 'cause DAMN, THAT'S JUST FUCKED.

Is it possible to summarize everything with, "No?"

I feel like such a bitch for it, but explaining this situation to Josh seems incredibly tedious.
No Josh, I cannot be around you because it will ruin your marriage. No Josh, I cannot fuck you even though your wife says it's ok. No Josh, I cannot explain my emotions regarding this situation because they're non-existent now. No Josh, you didn't mean nothing to me, you just have to mean nothing to me now for both of our sakes. Just, no.

I feel like I'm breaking his heart. I feel like I owe him something that I can't possibly give. I feel like I should do whatever he wants because of things I've done wrong.

I feel like a mess and the more I'm faced with his pleading eyes and words, the more I never want to see him again.