At 6:00 a.m. the night starts to crack. The sky turns three shades lighter. I rarely watch movies anymore. I used to watch a lot of movies as a child. My girlfriends and I would go to the corner store and other video rental places to scoop up the best looking movies and get really into them.
Leg day is today, at 6:15 a.m. and it's my favourite day. It's September first, which is kinda pivotal if you ask me. It's about to be winter again. I'm ready. I love winter. I don't hate it.
Chelsea unblocked me so I creeped the shit out of her mostly private profile but it was nice to see her thriving and living her best life. That's an ex-best-friend of mine. We grew apart. It's Sunday morning and I'm at home and I've pulled my blinds down.
Life is so blessed. I've never felt better. I've never felt more confident and successful. I've worked for 4 years at the same restaurant on September 7th 2026. I'm proud.
I've been lifting for years now and it's starting to look like I have muscles. I flexed for my doctor yesterday. Between work and gym, there's no time for shitty relationships, friendships that don't inspire me and wasting my time.
I lick the fork, I wear the sparkles and I smile unapologetically these days. I am truly living my best life and I can't wait for the next 4 years.
This August 2nd, it will be 21 years since my little sister Emma was killed in a car accident. I was in the car accident. My mom’s mom, my grandma, fell asleep at the wheel driving us home from the cottage and we smashed into another car driving in the opposite direction on the highway in Quebec.
My sister was a classic. She was really, really funny. We spent a lot of time at Chapters in our youth. I am thankful for having known her. She was 13.
One time, at work, my colleagues found out about her death. “I was born in 2005,” my co-worker said, “Maybe I’m her reincarnation!” It was the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me in regards to her death.
I like to think she haunts my restaurant. I think of my life. I am lucky to be alive. 🍀
Two houses, no people. My sheets smell like bleach. The least I can do is forget about you. I heard someone say, “I don’t date, I don’t do any of that.” And it becomes my mantra.
Summers I’m most likely to think about my trauma. I think I’m healed. I don’t sit around crying anymore. I narrow my eyes. Or do I?
My to-do list includes working like a dog, changing into street clothes after my shift, and gazing into the infinite abyss as if this should all make sense to me someday.
How can there be justice for my friend Phil (Dip Black) who drowned? There can't be. Therein lies proof god doesn't fucking exist. That's some utter fucking bullshit, god. What a crock of shit, don't lie to my face.
I kinda realize now my last post was redundant. My doctor didn't need to see me this time around. I won't see him for months now, til next year probably. I think it was a scheduling error. I'm annoyed I can't think of something cool to write about.
My parents are going to the cottage which is in Quebec. I don't know when I'll see them next. I'm okay with this. I need some time alone anyway. I work 11 a.m. - 3 p.m. today. I'm lowkey excited. It's Monday.
It's my day-off. It's Monday. It's supposed to feel like 40° today in Ottawa. I have an Abilify shot planned at 9:00 a.m. at Le Montfort and a pointless meeting with my psyche doctor after so he can inquire if I have shot meth in the last month. Which of course, I haven't.
He always asks stupid questions like if I eat and sleep. Of course I eat and sleep. When I did drugs, I didn't tell him I was doing drugs and no one knew. Now everyone knows I used to do drugs. I'm okay with it. I think you should be honest about who you are.
At work, 3 teenagers walked out on their $200 bill. I served them 4 apps, 7 Budweisers, 3 shots of vodka and 3 mains. They "went out for a smoke" and never came back. What an insulting, ragamuffin thing to do. I should have known better, coming from Dunn's Market Deli.
Oh, well. That's the name of the game, folks! Now to enjoy the freedom of not having to serve for at least 48 hours.
5:30 a.m. and the sky is navy in colour. It reminds me of deep, dark waters where you can't see anything past the surface. Twinkling lights fill my window. At last, it's almost summer. It snowed for 6 months this year. All of a sudden, though, yesterday it was sunny and warm. I took off my winter jacket.
I got my summer tires put on my car, Blue. At The Great Canadian Oil Change, the worker recognized me from my job and asked if I worked there. Later, at my dad's bank, I went inside with him. The banker recognized me from my work, too! She even said it was I who had served her. I asked her how my service was. She said, "The best." I take great pride in what I do.
I went to dance class and scampered up the pole in plastic white heels. I drove through downtown Ottawa on my way to the bookstore. I will triumphantly return to the diner today, smiling and happy to be there.
There's war. You should be sad. That's how I justify my own sadness. I'm sad for the world, a bleeding heart. More women should be in more powerful positions. I don't know how it's 2026 and there's still war, famine, poverty. It's sad. There's little to nothing I can do about the wars overseas. I'm usually good at accepting things I can't change.
I think I'm Black. If I were a Black girl, would I be Nigerian? Ethiopian? I choose Somali. That's my favourite African-American culture. Once, Rima told me a white guy asked her to dance at the bar and when she said no, he called her the n-word. So she got her cousin to stomp his face on the curb.
U smell like purple flowers. The ambulance is close-by. I pace the hallways of our haunted house and wonder, if this is the last time I'll see you alive, if I'll kill myself. Suddenly, Vanier seems scary and mean. Suddenly, I don't seem so tough. It's 11:30 pm at night, half an hour away from when we were supposed to start partying again, and you don't seem so alive.
It's me who's different this year because my bf isn't here and I'm alone again. I think of his ex, somewhere in Blackburn, struggling without thinking about me or where he's touching me. She never has to be jealous again. I think about my belongings and how I own them now, how he could never give away my stuff again. I hope it's worth it.
He chain-smoked. He smoked in my house. I told him we can't smoke in here but I opened the windows for him nonetheless, I let him do whatever he wanted to. I can't stop myself from thinking about him today on his deathaversary, like that, with his chain around his neck, dead.
At Broadway, my old cook Georgie, this big, fat Black guy, used to play this song on repeat and make neighing horse noises at the hottest servers. It was not at me at the time. He’s dead now. What I remember about my dead ex-coworkers is that they were nothing short of hilarious.
What changed? I'll tell you. I changed. I got smarter and faster this year. The first day of the year is today and I'm at work, serving the restaurant by myself. I'm pretty sure I was waitressing when you were born. I've never been more concerned with numbers, letters or words. I've never been more focused on myself and my career and my side-hustles and my businesses. The business of my body. Making it work for me.
The first train leaves Blair at 5 am Monday morning, I can attest to this. I've been thinking about the id/ego and super-ego lately. I got all the dolls off Fakebook Marketplace. I wrote in my calendar, the start times at work, how much I made in tips that day and scrawled in the corners reasons to continue to live.
When I'm alone in my room all I can think about is the injustice. Like how people drown because they don't know how to swim. I can't read your mind but I know what you are thinking. It's funny how each day goes from being sunny to cloudy to raining. What's not funny is my reputation.
They’re going to prey on you. Until you are weak in the knees, your eyes hurt, and it’s over. That’s what being a girl is like.