I'm in work now, but all I can think about is getting off and going out later. It's the one thing that is going to sustain me through this rubbish start to the work work. It's rainy and miserable out, and I punched in four minutes late, which means if my supervisior does what upstairs tells her to, I should be awaiting iminent suspension, the next stop after which is termination. So there's that to look forward to. I really thought I was going to make it today, too. After some fancy and at times evasive driving and a series of positive thinking mantras, I ran to the timeclock only to discover that I was still very much fucked. In truth, I knew I was going to be late, and the reason is because I couldn't get Nick to speed up his gradual waking up thing, and if I don't get out of the house by 7:20, I miss this window in traffic. Granted, I'm not sore about it or anything, and I don't blame him, so to speak. Believe me, as he pulled me down to lay my head on his chest (after I'd already been up, dressed, took the trash out, ready to go) and he mumbled, "I'm getting there, baby," or something to that effect, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was break the embrace and come into work. Last night marked another like last week where we simply fell asleep on the sofa and when I woke up and turned the television off and suggested we lay down, after a stretch of teetering on the edge of the couch and an elbow too near my nose at one point, I again decided to take my just- over-three-hours of sleep in my bed on my own, and came back out to the living room once I'd gotten up and dressed in the morning. Last night was not expected to end so sleepily, but I'm certainly not bent out of shape about it, since I know how tired from the drive back from New York he was, and after how much he drank in the hopes of waking up seemed to make him more sleepy, compounded by Subway, which sobered him up, but lead to a nice full stomach, which always makes one more inclined to sleep, I can't say I was surprised. Judging by earlier in the night, though, I was sure three hours of sleep would be too much to hope for. As I said during the weekend "dirty text message marathon", we will have to make up for lost time haha. We went to Brewer's Art last night once he got back in town. That was a good time. We talked more about the old PBS Saturday night line up when we were kids and the old BBC series were the closest thing to cable we both had, Wishbone and Mr. Bean, had some delicious beverages, and a very exciting five or ten minutes in the toilets. We went to Club Charles for last call, then Subway, where he asked again what the hell I've done to him, but that he couldn't be happier.

Friday night Carm and I went to Holy's for dinner and then Firehouse. We ended up going there because Camrin got a call from Rob and he literally drove her to drink. As in she was so annoyed when she got off the phone with him she was like, "Let's go to Firehouse. I need a drink, and I know you're up fer it." Truth be telt, I'm a little offended that he hasn't asked for me or contacted me in any way in about three weeks. I couldn't be more thrilled with where I'm at at present, but still, it would be gratifying to know if he is wondering what I'm up to. If he only knew. I think his head would fucking spin. Anyways, what really pissed both Carm and I off about something he said on Friday was about the house we are moving to in Hamilton, he said, "That's where we live!", him and my replacement, I guess. Wrong, that's where he crashes now that he has a job in the city and Belair is too far to drive from in the morning. He's playing house in Hamilton, where he'll fucking bail from, too, when things get too real or too mundane. I'm from Hamilton, this isn't anything but getting back to my roots for me. It's really true, he's so much cooler for knowing me, and he wouldn't know shit if it weren't for me, and now he gets to pass it all off as his own. Whatever. I cannae be bothered.

Saturday was the Savery James show at The Metro Gallery. Hung out with Angel and Laurie, and Rob, once his set was done. They were really fucking good. Went to Club Charles with Laurie for a drink during one of the other bands, then back to the show, then back to Club Charles once it was over. Did very little yesterday. Had Checkers with Carm and Allen, then later on Carm and I went to Target where I returned one of the two superfluous pairs of shoes I got on Saturday (heels, I'm all about 'em now). It's a shame. I didn't need either of them, but they were super-cute, and the ones I took back were red patent leather, but really I have so much fucking debt, I don't need to buy ANYTHING. We then went to Goodwill and got icecream. I ate so bad yesterday, but good on Friday and Saturday, for the most part. I don't know, Saturday night when I went out, I felt very thin and couldn't help but be pleased with myself having caught Angel looking at me and then herself in a compare and contrast jealous sort of way. I am pleased to know that if I only modify my eating for like two days, I can see results that fast. I just wish I could get some sort of disciplined pattern down for myself. It's nearly eleven now and when I go to lunch I'm having an iced triple nonfat mocha. I've decided to drink those for the most part and only have Frap's sparingly, since they are higher in fat and calories. I had a cinnamon bun from Panera that a drug rep brought in this morning. Don't know why. Now I have heartburn, had to take some Zantac, and feel blown up. Hopefully, though, since I ate it early it won't deposit. My plan is to suffer through work, go home and take a nap. Then, if Nick wants to go to Club Charles, eat some dinner before getting ready.

I have a couple of marks on my neck that aren't terribly visible, but a lovely bruise on my shoulder from him biting me whilst at Brewer's. Ordinarily I would find this sort of thing juvenile and classless, but here, I absolutely love it. I wear them like badges of honor.