Day two of breakfast in bed, which was fucking amazing.

I’m realizing as I write this, that there are three possible reasons as to why Mom has been agreeing to bring me food like this:

1. It’s the first time that I am allowing Mom to bring me food

2. Unlike 99% of the population, Mom actually enjoys doing things for other people

3. The hotel breakfasts are complimentary

I think we’re looking at a combination of all three. However, the last one seems most plausible, as I believe it is Mom’s personal mission to hoard as much free stuff as possible. A trait that is most certainly hereditary. This would also explain why each morning’s take-out box contains more food than the last one. I don’t need four croissants. But, they’re free. So, okay. Always remember the first rule of money: never spend your own!

Phillip slept at Cousin Evan’s apartment downtown again, and returned to the hotel fairly early. We both ended up in the gym around the same time, and spent a couple of hours there together. I did my normal routine. Weights, floor stuff, and running. While I was on the treadmill, Phillip got on another one a couple of spaces to my right. My mind began to drift into some philosophical tangent about progress while I was listening to my 1998 to 2001 Britney Spears playlist.

Compared to my hour-long run at 7mph, Phillip was going relatively slow on his treadmill. It got me thinking about how I have progressed with my exercise. When I started running four years ago, it was around 5.5mph and 30 minutes was the death of me. It was the same thing with sit-ups. I could barely do 100, and now I’m crunching over 1,000 every time I’m in the gym.

Things don’t start at 100%. You don’t start out at the top. That’s not to say that I am by any means at the “top,” but I suppose progress is clearer in hindsight. I’ve come a long way with my exercising. The same can be said for a job. You don’t jump into a senior work role. You have to learn the ropes. “Walk before you run,” if you will.

Still on my philosophical tangent, I even began thinking about my summers working in Florida, and how those exchange programs taught me about US work permits and visas. It was because of that knowledge, experience, and confidence, that I was able to go do something similar by myself in California during the summer of 2012.

Things work in stages, I guess. Perhaps relationships do, too. But, when is it “working towards a goal,” and when is it “settling?” I suppose it’s being able to recognize the moments in life when you know you want more. When you’re ready for more. I know that I am at that point right now. I know that I want to quit The Store. I want a new, exciting, and stimulating job. I know that I don’t want to date Bryan anymore. Even though he’s a great guy, I don’t want him to be a part of my future. I am able to recognize each of these moments and more. I’m ready for the next stage.

Ah. The things you think about while running.

After the gym, the family raced to get ready for the wedding, jumped in the car, and drove to the church. Alright, I’m going to say it. I looked good. I’m not going to be modest about it. I looked fucking good! There’s such a negative connotation associated with a statement like that. But, let’s be real here. I don’t exactly love the way I look 98% of the time. After a lot of hard work to overcome some damning insecurities I have about myself, I’m proud to say that I looked quite handsome at the wedding tonight.

I almost cried when I saw Ashley walk down the aisle. She looked so happy. By the way, this wedding was a full-on white wedding. I’m talking about a white vintage car outside, churchy, blood of Christ moment. Not at all what I would want, but I wasn’t the one getting married today. I had my moment as the witness, signed some papers, and returned to my pew. Ashley and Oliver did their thing with the priest, we all walked out of the church in formation, and that was that. Mission accomplished.

The next stop was Hotel Nelligan in Old Montreal for the reception. This hotel was gorgeous. I love exposed brick in a room. It turns me on. Note to self: bring future boyfriend to Hotel Nelligan for a weekend getaway.

I practiced my speech a few times in Aunty Joyce and Uncle Will’s hotel suite, then headed downstairs to join everyone at the reception. I had a couple alcoholic drinks, and then quickly switched back to water. I continued to drink water for most of the night, until I had my public speaking moment.

My speech was so good. I stumbled a couple of times, but nothing that noticeable. I can’t even remember how many people came up to me afterwards and said how much they loved it. My speech was easily the best of the night, if I do say so myself. It also meant a lot when people would say things like, “You’re a natural,” or, “It was so funny,” and things like that. I felt like I had lost a lot of confidence over the years with my public speaking. Tonight was a nice confidence boost.

Unfortunately, returning to the subject of “not remembering,” that was pretty much the theme for rest of my night. Immediately after I finished my speech, I started drinking. Nothing too crazy at first. In fact, I even managed to have some decent conversations with people throughout the room for most of the night. Including Claire, to whom I admitted that I had been put on an anti-depressant.

However, once I switched my open bar drink order from champagne to double gin and waters, there was no turning back. I don’t remember the point at which I lost control. All I know is that it was late, and that the room had mostly cleared out.

I overdid it. I fucking overdid it. I don’t remember leaving the reception.

For whatever it’s worth, this was my speech:

Goodnight xo