There was this woman yesterday though who was having a complete nervous breakdown in the fitting room, and I had the pleasure of hearing it all. "OH MY GOD! I'M SO FAT! I'M SO FAT! I'M NOT EATING AGAIN FOR A WEEK!" And the poor girl was nowhere near being fat. Society's standards, I'm tellin' ya. There's something wrong. And I had this guy who was just a real douchebag... a complete asshole, extremely rude... probably the worst customer I've had yet. But I just smiled at him. It all just bounced off of me. Normally I would have completely freaked out. Must be the drugs, man.
I have today off and on a whim I ended up walking downtown. Like, I just intended to go out for a short walk but the weather was nice and I didn't get tired nearly as quickly as I thought I would so... yeah. Ended up downtown. I bought scones, man! That's my reward for getting my ass in gear again, after so many days spent being practically motionless. Then I just wandered around aimlessly downtown for a while, while I waited for the next bus because I didn't feel quite up to attempting to walk home. I saw the original Friendly Neighbourhood Reporter Man and said hi because I'm nice. And he's pretty. And... yep. Now I'm home again.
I need to go pay my rent because if I don't do it today, I'll completely forget and end up coming home later this week to an eviction notice taped to my door. The "Happy 1 year anniversary of living here, we're jacking up your rent 20 bucks because we appreciate you so damn much" cheque. Goodie.
By the way, yeah, March 1... one year of living in Cracktown. And what do I have to show for myself? Not sure.