It’s the truth before the lies.

Yesterday was one of those days that felt like they didn’t really happen because nothing particularly memorable happened to make me remember it. Plus, it was a Tuesday, and considering its proximity to the beginning of the week, I have absolutely no respect for it whatsoever.

I got up at 7:08am, pressed Snooze until 7:17am, pressed Snooze until 7:26am and then finally rolled out of bed with Monday’s makeup still half in tact on my face.  [Yeah, I’m one of those makeup deviants who rarely takes off her makeup and on occasion has been known to get up early to fix it so her boyfriend is impressed at how fantastic she looks in the morning.] I showered, put in my hair [shut up, you know it’s fake], did my makeup and watched an episode of The Practice before strolling out the door 10 minutes later than I planned, yet exactly the same as every other day.

I hate that even being late is predictable for me these days.

I got my regular Tim Horton’s bagel [which was both wrong and actually disgusting] and 2 milk, 1 sugar coffee, got to work, wandered out to get lunch and worked some more while distracting myself with the same music I’ve had on my iPod for months and am now completely sick of hearing on shuffle. After work I stopped at the bank, grabbed a bottle of water, went to Kensington to get a t-shirt printed and finally went home to the same messy apartment I’ve been avoiding cleaning because it’s just been too damn hot lately to spend any time anywhere but standing directly in front of the air conditioner on full blast.

A short bit later, a girl friend and I shared a bottle of wine, ordered take out from Red Room [go figure] and spent the rest of the night on my couch talking about people behind their backs. That’s what girls do, you know; sit around talking about people who send us crazy texts, who make stupid decisions, who flat out lie to our faces and who, no doubt, are somewhere doing the exact same thing to us behind our backs. It’s nothing to apologize for at this point. 

Nights like this don’t even hit my radar anymore. It isn’t because I don’t enjoy the company, I do – I enjoy it even when we’re too exhausted to have anything to say to each other – it’s just that I’m not excited about being dramatic and petty anymore. I know some people who are still consumed by the drama and those people may never grow out of it – trust me, even my GMa has her share of girl drama [true story, my friends] and she’s in her 70’s – but it is both physically and mentally exhausting to constantly have your claws out all the time. 

And to constantly wonder what people are thinking and saying about you when you’re not within earshot.  

I’ve always wondered what the people in my life think about me when I’m not around. Are they judging me for wearing not necessarily work-appropriate shorts to work? Are they angry at me for telling them they’re making questionable decisions? Do they wish I’d keep my thoughts and opinions to myself? Do they actually think I’m a good friend?

I could blame any number of incidences and people for making me neurotic and self-conscious about stupid things like that, but the point is I’m not secure enough to trust that what’s coming out of people’s mouths is more often than not, the truth. I’m not secure enough to trust a lot of things; the fluttery heart feeling I get when I watch The Notebook, when I get distracted and can’t watch to make sure the Barrista at Starbucksis putting non-fat milk into my latte, most ex-girlfriends, the homeless people outside 7/11 [at least the ones who wear Nike shoes], and any dentist in the entire world.

I barely trust that I made the right decision when I order take-out from Red Room. But that’s something I learn to deal with every single day.

Or at least the day’s I don’t cook dinner at home.