Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2)

July 19

July 19

Despite going to bed still feeling sick and sweating through the night, I felt a lot better this morning. I still couldn't drag my ass out of bed before 7 a.m., but I think the overnight perspiration helped to release some of the garbage that is likely still flowing through my body. Mind you, I drench my shirt in sweat to and from work every day. Perhaps there's just a backlog of toxins that need to be released.

After breakfast at the Witch Cave, I got to work for 9 a.m. Right from the start, I was given a ton of work to do, which I actually really appreciated. Look. I don't exactly enjoy sitting around and waiting for tasks to be assigned. Give me a list of stuff to do, I'll do it, and then I'll go home. I'm tired of watching the seconds on the computer pass by, and there's only so much Twitter I can scroll through before my eyes start to hurt. Eyes, and brain. It's depressing learning about what's going on in the world. Speaking of which, I think I'm ready to stop taking my anti-depressant. I took it this morning, but I really want to try and get off the stuff. I'm going to skip tomorrow's dose.

So, yeah. I had a lot of work to do today, which took me a couple of hours to get through. Before I knew it, the day was half over. Yes!

Robyn had to go to a meeting this afternoon, and gave me some more jobs before she left. I was really only half-listening to what she asked me to do. When someone talks as much as Robyn does, there's no way you can listen to everything they say. I try to pick out the important stuff and nod like I'm taking it all in. In reality, I'm just covering up the Twitter porn I'm looking at on my computer.

Robyn went to her meeting. I finished writing a newsletter email, and then started making my debt collector calls and sending emails to rogue members. Sure enough, because Robyn makes me copy her on everything I send out, I received a frantic email from Robyn, telling me to immediately stop contacting members for money. Apparently, that was Robyn's job. The only problem was that I saw Robyn's message after I had called and emailed every member on her list. Whoopsie! But, I got the job done. What's the big fucking problem?

Robyn returned to our shoebox office around 4:45 p.m. I wouldn't say she was "mad" per se, but she was still freaking out and panicking over everything I had done – as if I had just assassinated the President. Robyn kept saying things like, "I never should have given you that list," and, "We're going to need to rethink the way we handle these situations," all while running around our office like a mad woman trying to gather her things and send apology emails to members – as if they even fucking cared.

This is what I've been talking about all along. I've been working at The Clubhouse for two fucking months now, and I still can't even send a simple email or make a motherfucking phone call to do my job without having my boss hold my hand. This is why Robyn's desk is a mess. This is why Robyn has 17,000 fucking unread emails in her inbox. The way I handled things today was an effort in providing a more personal level of service for the member, and also a more efficient way of working in the office.