Coffee & Cream

Ch 3

                It's been a few days since we first began the tour and we hope to arrive at our destination for our first show in around three days. We are told to pack a small duffle bag of our necessities as we will be staying in a hotel the night we preform our first show on this tour. Things were a little bit tense here on the bus though. Joe and Andy were always bickering like small children, because Joe would get far too high and eat what little vegan sustenance that Andy had on the bus. Pete was getting on everyone's nerves lately as he was completely manic and refused to take his medication to aid his ever racing mind and soul. Little suggestions were made to Pete to take is pretty pale pink pills with water at dawn and dusk, alas he returned suggestion with a firm no and attitude of apathy to the thought of us controlling him like a mother would a child. I stood to the side and glamorized his painful highs wishing for Pete's more desirable side effects of uncontrolled bipolar disorder such as his incredible confidence, his insatiable need for cramming everything he possibly could into every moment of every single burning fire of a day and lastly and perhaps most favorably to myself, his utter lack of appetite. When Pete was manic, he was absolutely unstoppable, because Pete was burning flames consuming energy from everything around him because he didn't need sleep, he didn't need food, and at the end of the day he didn't need Patrick. Pete didn't need me. Part of me wishes I was more like Pete in this regard because maybe, just maybe Peter Wentz would relate to me enough to fall in love with me.

On that note I have managed to cut down on my consumption of food without any sort of major suspicion from the rest of my band mates. They make soft and subtle comments on how healthy I am eating and how happy they are that I am exercising. The soft and subtle comments that I receive as reason to eat healthier and maintain an exercise regime that I have recently embarked on. I decided to weigh myself to get a better understanding of the weight I wanted to reach.

I make my way into the washroom quietly, feeling almost guilty and uneasy for no apparent reason before hastily shutting and locking the door before googling the most accurate way and time to weigh in. Since the evidence concluded that weighing oneself in the morning before liquids and meals while being in clothing of minimal weight or no clothing at all was presumed to be the most accurate, I concluded that I should now undress as this was the perfect time of day to weigh. I gingerly tap the scale with my left socked foot to see a stream of escalating and decreasing numerous patterns as a quickly released pressure off of the scale. I do this as a dog would stick their paw into the water to test the temperature before jumping in, although that being said I had absolutely no idea of what the waters had in store for me. When my full weight was adorned onto the top of the glorious scale my heart pounded too hard for anyone reading to know. I felt nausea spill its guts over me as I fell into a humiliatingly hypnotic state staring at the digits that now held my dignity, my confidence and my trashed self-worth as it blinked thrice on the digital display for conformation on its accuracy. I swallowed my pride as I wrote down "start weight: 205.6lbs" in sloppy blue ballpoint pen on the pages of my blue moleskin notebook. I was feeling rather blue and I'm glad that my stationary supplies now matched my dear emotions hue.