About two and a half weeks ago, I got B to get me the door code to our apartment complex's exercize room, and I've been sweating it out on the treadmill almost (I skipped 3 days) every night since then.

I've felt like I'm on a countdown since then as well, like there's a big red digital display above my head ticking off seconds, minutes, hours, days while another LED display charts my progress through a pre-programmed workout session.

Lots of things are coming to an end. The fat, pushy deli lady is going to take over my coffee shop's kitchen/food production on May 1st. B's graduation ceremony is on the 3rd of May. And sometime, sometime in May (B's mom says it's based on the last 2 digits of my SSN, and according to her I don't get nothin' 'til the END of May), the government is going to give me upwards of $300 but not more than $600 in the hopes that I and millions of my fellow taxpayers will go out and buy stuff to give a shock to the heart of an economy that is singing its swan song. Regrettably, rising costs of food and gas and the housing crisis will mean that this whole lovely little idea is going to backfire terribly because your average Joe America is going to pay bills and alleviate debt, not go out and buy a new wardrobe complete with a matching handbag for every day of the week (oh, but he will buy gas, so maybe it won't be quite the failure I imagine). Case in point, mine will be used to get the Camaro a LOOOOONG overdue oil change and transmission flush/filter replacement and then the rest of that shit is going straight into the bank never to be seen by retailers anywhere, except maybe the grocery store, but we'll see.

I'm broke-ass, but I'm not in any debt to any agencies or companies; I still owe B $400 or $500 (don't remember which, I haven't got my checkbook detailing previous payments) for the Camaro, but he's been quite lenient, especially considering I haven't paid on it in 2 months. Perk of being his girlfriend, I guess. I can afford to tack on another hundred bucks to my rent check this month, though, so good for me.

Oh dear Jesus God, U of F is out of session and the big boss' dickhead son is in town. I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate him; he's such a wiener.

Speaking of people who are wieners, S hasn't made any contact with me in a while but she hasn't deleted me from her MySpace friends list, which means she'll probably be up to old tricks sooner or later. I've decided that I'm going to get rid of her. No, not kill her. Just tell her to go away and leave me alone for all of forever because I can't put up with any more of her lying, crazy, drug-addled bullshit. If she doesn't try to talk to me again, that's fine too, but if she ever again tries to patch things up, she's going to fail miserably. There's going to be a point where she finally destroys the right relationship with someone and decides it's just not worth it. I hope. Though tried and true methods indicate the dumb cunt isn't capable of learning.

By the way, she doesn't even use people correctly. You're supposed to be ruthless and power hungry when you trample all over your relationships. She's just petulant and helpless which is sooooo old and busted--Women's movement, anyone?

Moving on.

I think I upset B last night. I've been trying for ages to get him to get rid of some of the old clothes he never wears and give them to Goodwill (something I do maybe once or twice yearly), and I finally forced him into it. I pulled out a bunch of shirts in his closet that I literally, in 2 years of living with him, had never seen him wear, displayed them before him, and let him decide what could go and what couldn't. He insisted on hanging on to a bunch of junk, and there was also a big mess of t-shirts that I knew better than to touch because they said things like "Miskatonic University" and "Ia Ia Cthulhu F'thagn" and had big pictures of tentacle-faced otherworldly things on them that will probably rise again from the ocean sooner or later and doom us all. For the life of me I can't figure out why he doesn't wear them anymore; unless of course he's forgotten he owns them. They kind of were hidden away between all the other stuff he never wears.

Anyway, he seemed down after I boxed everything up, so I told him we could put it back if he felt like I was making him throw bits of his life away, and that I didn't want him to resent me for it, but he said what's done is done and we might as well keep it that way.

He also said to not force him to do things anymore.

Oh but when we move, that closet of his is getting the cleaning of its life, and Goodwill is going to end up with a metric shitton of good-condition menswear.

I too threw a whole bunch of crap in the Goodwill box, some dry-clean only pants I destroyed in the wash and can no longer cram over my butt, an old hairdryer that was replaced with a more powerful model, and the entire load of shirts my mother bought for my last birthday, all of which came from a thrift store and were ugly or looked too worn for me to even bother with. I like to wear out my own clothes, thank you (she tried to do the same thing with cookbooks one Christmas, and I ended up leaving them in the trunk of the Nissan where they got wet and ruined but it was okay because I hate getting used shit as presents, unless it's some kind of priceless family heirloom--seriously, what was she thinking? I swear to god she never tried to give me other people's junk until I moved out.) I'm also going to do away with my former computer monitor which is in good working condition, if you excuse the fact that the center of the screen is starting to get pretty blurry. The speakers from my old busted-ass stereo are going to say farewell, too.

Oh, and today's PAAAAAAAYYYYDAAAAAAAAYYYY!

And I fed birds bread this morning.

And I'm thinking about mailing in a brochure to receive more info about volunteering with an organization down here that helps abused children.

I think that's about everything.