If Fashion Is Your Trade, When You're Naked, I Guess You Must Be Unemployed

Well, I managed to get down to class for a wee bit last night. God, was that like dying a slow death. I only stayed from 5:30-7, so that's only an hour and a half made up, but, my God, was it boring. I swear, I don't know how I'm going to get through this. Once I get the certificate I don't want to hear the words massage therapy. I'm such a fucking loser. I honestly feel sick about it. I know as much as I hate myself for not following through or not applying myself, the distain and misery I feel at having to soldier on and stick it out with this shit, the thought of enduring it, makes me physically ill, as well. It's like I would rather deal with the humiliation and ridicule of not finishing and having wasted almost $7,000 of my grandparents' money than get my ass down there to be miserable and awkward for a few hours. I'm going back on Wednesday to join in with one of the other classes. I can't tell whether that's going to be better or not. I know that I will actually have to be performing massage, which I'm just not in the mood probably to do, but maybe the time will pass quicker than just sitting there watching videos. I swear, that school is a fucking joke, a monument to half-assedness and unprofessionalism. So I said I had to pick Carm up at work and left at 7. I wanted Carm to colour my hair last night, but she's going to do it this evening when I get home from dinner with Dad and Mary, before I go to Two For Tuesdays.

I'd already said I was going to class last night, so I wasn't going to Club Charles, although I ended up getting home plenty early that I could have gone. I didn't want to be too available or whatever, and even though I totally would have loved to have a white Russian and see Nick, I maintained my original plan of not going out, and texted Nick that I was looking forward to drinks tonight at Ottobar. He said he is, too. I am wondering what to wear to the Ottobar tonight. I can't wait for the warm weather to come because I am so sick of wearing coats and rotating the few winter sweaters/hoodies/track jackets I have that fit me. I also feel underdressed sometimes with Nick, because he's so dapper with his suits and fedora, and here I am with jeans and a hoody. Of course, having referenced being underdressed, I have now lapsed into a sort of trance and need to snap out of it. Sunday night when we were out, he was telling me how it was obvious when he went to dinner with his parents that he'd been out the night before, because he didn't have his blazer anymore, his hat was on the back of his head, sunglasses on, tie removed, shirt partially unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. I said to stop with the visuals because I was going to go into spasms. In fact, describing that just now, my God.