The Virginity Monologues

Well, the same friend that forced me to leave my Nest of Self-Pity on Monday night, also commanded me to go to the gym last night. And it was tough. I had to go home to get my gym clothes and once I was there, my bed was so tempting. So soft and fluffy. It called to me.

It said, “Chloe, come lay here. Eat ice cream and watch Annie and all your troubles will melt away.”

But I knew I was going to feel better if I went to the gym, as much as I didn’t have it in me to go.

And I went. And my friend, Ana, was right. I knew she would be. As I walked out, I felt about 10,000 times better.

I thought long and hard about what to do about The DJ as I sweated it out on the treadmill. He called again last night and left a message wondering why I hadn’t returned his calls.

I talked to Email Boy. I talked to Nicole, who is also good friends with The DJ, and I talked to Spatch.

I decided I need to talk to The DJ. There are too many mutual friends at this point to avoid him forever. I can either be an adult about the situation and talk to him, or make everyone else uncomfortable anytime we’re all in the same place, which is inevitable.

I called. I left a message. I’m waiting for him to call me back.

Now all I can do is pray that I don’t cry in front of him.

Today's Title from: Tears Dry on Their Own by Amy Winehouse

Labels: The DJ