Hi, I'm Kurt. A binge-drinking, pill-popping disco diva with a heart of platinum and an appetite for self-destruction.
Welcome to Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 1 of 2).
Adapted from a collection of nightly...
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March 6
Hung. Over.
Thankfully, this morning's grog didn't last all day. Instead, it was simply replaced with a surprisingly enjoyable haze, brought on by the weed I smoked around 11 a.m.
My morning was pretty funny, actually. I forgot how much I loved my little bed nook at the Witch Cave. It's small, but cozy. And really unique. I don't know anyone else with an apartment like mine, come to think of it. Last summer, Dad and I installed a bunch of modern-looking shelves on the three walls surrounding my bed, and I placed an assortment of whozits and whatsits on each of them. Those trinkets, in addition to my various hanging picture frames and excessive number of decorative pillows, have made for my very own Ariel's Grotto.
Stoned in bed, I relaxed at my apartment. I played around on my computer, listened to music, took a bunch of selfies, and continued blazing. Logan watched my Snapchat story, which I thought was entertaining. I still don't view that shit as a proper form of communication, but I'm sure he does. In Logan's mind, we've probably had a full conversation because he saw a photo of me in bed. It's misleading, you know? What happens on the internet is not representative of real life, or what happens behind the camera. I like making a Snapchat story so I can re-laugh at my own videos throughout the day, not so you can form a false idea of what's going on in my life. Anyway, I don't think I'll be messaging Logan any time soon. Mind you, I've lost track of how many times I've written that exact declaration of independence in the past month.
I walked to the gym while stoned and did my thing. It was fun. Today was just a really good high. I felt very calm. Thank God, too. Why? Because guess who sent me a message out of the blue? RX.
The iMessage was nothing more than a casual reference to Sabrina the Teenage Witch, a favorite show of ours. But, still. It came out of fucking nowhere. That's what RX does, though. He sneaks up on you. He scares the shit out of you, and before you realize what's happened, he's disappeared and you're left standing in your own filth, feeling, well, shitty. My conversation with RX, if you can even call it that, fizzled out pretty quickly. I don't know what his deal is. Does he think that we are buddy-buddy? Or are there ulterior motives with these types of messages? I don't have the mental capacity right now to take on another analysis side project. No, thank you.
After the gym, Dad picked me up from the Witch Cave and we drove home to Casa Z together. I took the car to do a short shift at The Store, then got groceries and went back downtown from there. Quite the day. I capped off my night by relaxing at my apartment, watching SPY (hilarious), and staying up way too late.
In other news, it's now after midnight and I was just pleasantly informed that my unemployment payment has been cleared. Approved! (*Target Lady voice*) I'm shocked. However, I'm also $500 richer now. If all goes well with my weekly reports, those checks should continue on a bi-weekly basis. Bless.
Here's to another new week. Let's hope tomorrow brings some more positive news. I always love a good Monday.
