June 21st 4:31 AM

I’m a little late, but here is my entry for the twentieth.

Well today has really sucked. It turned out to be a chilly overcast day, when I had planned to go to the beach. That option out, I instead I went to the gym and worked out for two straight hours. Darn near literally killed myself in there on the elliptical. On the way home I spotted a Crème Royal and was helplessly compelled to stop. I usually have more self control than that but today something was really off. I completely mitigated my workout with an éclair and a raspberry jelly donut.

Then when I got home, good old mom called to chew me out for not calling her more often. I once again had to explain to her that I don’t call more often because I don’t have anything new to say. My life is still the same old same old that she so evidently disapproved of: no husband, no job and no prospects. “And that’s the way I like it,” I tried to insist to her, even though she kept ranting in Russian about how I was turning into an “old maid”, and how sooner than I thought, no-one would want me.

“Thanks mom. You really have a way of cheering me up. I look forward to each one of your phone calls with great joy,” I spat, before begging off the line with not feeling well. It wasn’t entirely untrue. That phone call and those donuts combined with a general feeling of emptiness left me exhausted and sad. After extracting myself from the phone call from Hell, I lay back on my bed and thought of my life. Ironically, Dennis had mentioned that he wanted me to get a job earlier that week; “Even a part time job to help you pass the time more constructively, and give you a sense of responsibility.” I chafed at the thought of getting a job. I mean, I didn’t actually have the need to work. I was financially stable due in part to penny pincher values my mother had instilled in me; wise investments and my shoplifting habit, combined with my father’s checks. But Dennis thought it would help me improve my situation. “I’ll consider it.” I had told him. What type of profession could I possibly get into, though, with little schooling and job training? What would I put on my resume “avid club hopper for most of my life?” Would I end up working at a fast food restaurant? No thanks! This diary was doable, but getting a job was one of Dennis’s ideas that I’d really have to kick around.