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.