Today’s Co–Star said:
Start keeping a diary again.
And underneath that:
Your thoughts are spinning uselessly inside your head. Get them down on paper. The act of writing will force clarity where there’s been none. What looks messy inside looks solvable once spelled out.
And honestly?
Bit late.
I’ve already been doing that.
For the past couple of weeks, actually.
Writing everything down.
The stupid little details.
The things that hurt.
The things that make me laugh.
The people I miss.
The people who annoy me.
Work.
Pokémon.
Perfume.
Coffee.
All of it.
Maybe Co–Star finally caught up with me.
But maybe the rest of the message is exactly why I’ve kept doing this.
Things feel so much messier when they’re just spinning around inside my head.
Once I write them down, they become something I can actually look at instead of something I have to carry.
Not everything becomes solvable.
But at least it becomes clearer.
Anyway.
I was opening the bar today.
I was already wide awake by around 8 AM, and honestly, I was too scared to go back to sleep.
I needed to be at work by 11, and knowing me, “just another hour” could very easily turn into waking up at midday.
So instead:
phone.
Magic Chess.
One game.
Very responsible.
By 10, I knew I had to stop messing around and actually start getting ready if I wanted to catch the train.
I caught the 10:46 train.
Arrived at Waitematā at 10:53.
Seven minutes.
I still love that.
Which obviously gave me enough time for the important stop:
Starbucks.
My current favourite is an iced shaken espresso with oat milk and whatever syrup I feel like adding to make it sweet.
I’ve also decided that my current tumbler is basically a cold-drinks-only tumbler now.
Which raises an obvious question:
do I need another tumbler?
Future problem.
And by “future,” I mean tomorrow.
Today is payday.
Hihi.
I still got to work around 11:05.
Five minutes late.
Honestly, not bad.
Opening the bar is easy anyway.
Mostly just setting everything up and getting the station ready.
Nothing too dramatic.
Until I realised one small problem.
I had completely forgotten the order of the spirits on the speed rail.
Naturally, I texted Dylan.
Just one message.
I wasn’t going to call him because I had a feeling he was probably still asleep.
My logic was simple:
if he replies, I’ll call.
If he doesn’t, leave the man alone.
While I waited, I tried to arrange everything in a way that made sense to me.
What do I reach for most?
Which spirits belong to the cocktails we actually serve?
What order would make service easier?
Luckily, I still roughly remembered the cocktail list and most of the recipes, so I wasn’t completely useless.
But damn.
I really need more bar shifts.
This was my first proper bar shift in around two months.
Apparently two months is enough time for the speed rail to become ancient history.
Then came problem number two.
Lunch is usually quiet, and I’ve noticed that this is normally when the bartender preps all the garnishes.
Lime.
Lemon.
Orange.
I checked the fridge.
Yep.
A lot needed to be done.
One issue:
I had never actually cut the fruit before.
Most of my previous bar shifts were just me supporting another bartender when things got busy.
Jump in.
Make drinks.
Help out.
Easy.
But today?
I was alone.
Which meant all the little invisible prep jobs that somebody else normally did were suddenly my problem.
And I really didn’t want to be useless.
So there I was.
Staring at a pile of citrus like it was some kind of practical exam.
Honestly, how I wished Dylan would reply to my text right about then.
Eventually I got bored.
And I get paid well enough that standing around waiting for drink dockets to appear felt a little ridiculous.
So I grabbed the fruit knife.
Grabbed the chopping board.
And started cutting.
Lime.
Lemon.
Orange.
If somebody complains about the shapes later?
Hey.
I tried my best, okay.
The funny part was that I couldn’t find the limes.
So I complained to Steve:
“When life gives you lemons, why? Because right now I need limes.”
Steve disappeared into the walk-in chiller.
Came back with an entire box of limes.
Apparently they had been hidden under the mint leaves.
Then he told me I should probably stop searching like a man.
Excuse me?
Why the sass?
The rest of the shift actually went pretty well.
And one thing I definitely want to remember:
I had to make a Long Island Iced Tea.
I used to be weirdly intimidated by that drink because I could never remember the recipe properly.
Then I remembered something someone once told me:
think of the white spirits.
That was basically how he explained the core of it to me.
And for some reason, that explanation stuck.
So I made one.
Then the guy who ordered it came back and ordered another.
And another.
Which I am absolutely taking as very good feedback.
Honestly, I was so proud of myself.
One of those tiny moments where you realise:
oh. I actually know what I’m doing now.
Eventually Dylan finally replied.
He was supposed to start work at 6 PM.
So naturally, around 5 PM, he responded to the message I had sent hours earlier.
Classic Dylan.
By then, obviously, it was far too late.
I had already arranged the speed rail according to whatever felt right to me.
I had already cut all the fruit as best as I could.
So instead of asking for help, I just complained to him.
Told him not to laugh when he saw my garnishes.
His response?
“No promises.”
Amazing.
Very supportive.
Thank you, Dylan.
I was rostered until 8 PM, but I had already asked Steve if I could finish at 7.
I wanted some time to rest.
Maybe have a drink.
Reset a little before my DJ set from 9 until close.
So at 7, I looked around.
Dinner wasn’t even busy.
There were enough staff.
Everything was covered.
So once again, I told the manager on duty:
I’m clocking out.
Not:
can I clock out?
I wasn’t asking permission.
I was providing an update.
Apparently this is becoming a personality trait.
I sat down for a while and downloaded a few more songs I felt like playing that night.
Then around 9 PM, I jumped behind the decks.
Honestly, Thursday DJ shifts have become something completely different for me.
They’re basically just playtime now.
No rules.
No carefully analysing the crowd.
No energy curve I need to protect.
Mostly because there isn’t exactly much of a crowd to analyse anyway.
I just play whatever I feel like listening to.
Mix things together because I think they sound good.
Sometimes somebody reacts.
Sometimes people vibe.
Sometimes I play something and absolutely nobody cares.
And honestly?
I don’t really care either.
Tonight I wasn’t trying to prove that I could control a room.
I was just enjoying music.
By around 10:40, the venue was completely empty.
Doors closed.
No crowd left to read.
So I started going through my playlists looking for songs I had never really played before.
Somehow that turned into thirty minutes of Rihanna.
I genuinely don’t know how.
One Rihanna song became another.
Then another.
Then another.
And honestly, I wasn’t complaining.
I love Rihanna.
She was probably the first artist I properly loved when I was younger.
Almost twenty years ago now.
Which is insane to even write.
Back when I first started getting proper access to YouTube, she was one of the artists I kept coming back to.
So there was something really nice about standing behind the decks all these years later, in an empty venue, just playing her songs because I wanted to.
No crowd.
No expectations.
Just me and music I’ve loved for years.
Dylan invited me to hang out afterwards.
And for once, I said no.
Very responsible of me.
I have to open again tomorrow, so obviously I need to go home and rest.
Except…
that isn’t completely true.
Yes, I am opening.
But I also want to wake up early enough to go into the city first.
Maybe buy a lot of Pokémon cards.
Maybe finally get myself a tumbler that is actually suitable for hot drinks.
Priorities.
So I turned Dylan down and decided to go home.
Apparently I have finally become mature enough to reject a night out.
Just not mature enough to stop buying Pokémon cards and drinkware.
When I got home, I was feeling a little hungry.
And my logic was:
I need to wake up early tomorrow.
I might not have time for breakfast.
Therefore, if I don’t eat now, tomorrow-morning me is going to suffer.
Completely reasonable.
So I ordered:
pizza.
Chicken tenders.
Garlic bread.
Apparently preparing for an early morning means feeding myself like I’m stocking up for winter.
While I waited for the food to arrive, I put some laundry into the washing machine so I could throw it into the dryer tomorrow morning.
I also finally replaced the filter in my water jug.
Very overdue.
Very glamorous.
Pizza on the way.
Laundry running.
Water filter changed.
Maybe I really am becoming a responsible adult.
Just one whose mornings are planned around Pokémon cards and tumblers.
My food finally arrived.
I went for a Veggie Deluxe pizza because apparently I wanted to pretend I was being healthy.
Vegetables.
Balance.
Responsible adult choices.
Then I added stuffed crust.
Because obviously.
Is paying an extra three dollars just to have cheese stuffed into the crust worth it?
Yes.
Absolutely.
Every bite.
Unfortunately, there is one small complication.
I am dairy intolerant.
Which means future me may have some opinions about tonight’s decision.
But present me?
Present me was very happy.
Worth every bite.
And probably every minute I’m going to spend in the bathroom later.
Then I decided that if I had changed the filter in my water jug, I should probably clean the things that were going to hold the newly filtered water too.
So I washed my tumblers.
My two prized possessions at the moment.
There is something weirdly satisfying about little rituals like that.
Clean filter.
Clean containers.
Fresh water.
It’s not really about hygiene alone.
It just makes me feel like I’m starting something fresh.
Like resetting a tiny part of my life.
I filled both tumblers with water.
Put them beside my bed.
And now I’m just lying here.
Trying to fall asleep.
Excited about tomorrow.
Pokémon cards.
Maybe another tumbler.
Coffee.
Maybe something I haven’t planned at all.
And looking back at today’s Co–Star:
Start keeping a diary again.
Maybe that’s exactly why I want to remember all of this.
Not because today was particularly dramatic.
It wasn’t.
I opened a bar.
Forgot where the spirits went.
Learned how to cut fruit.
Got roasted by Steve.
Made a Long Island Iced Tea I was actually proud of.
Waited all day for Dylan to reply only for him to answer right before his shift.
Played Rihanna to an empty restaurant.
Rejected a night out.
Ordered pizza.
Changed a water filter.
Washed my tumblers.
None of those things are life-changing.
But they are my life.
And maybe that’s the whole point of keeping a diary.
Not just preserving the tragedies.
Not just documenting the big revelations.
Sometimes it is enough to remember:
this is what an ordinary Thursday felt like.
And honestly, ordinary felt pretty good today.
I’m going to stop writing here.
Tomorrow is already waiting.
And for once, I’m not overthinking what it might become.
I’m just excited to wake up and find out.