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

July 25

July 25

Back to the grind. No, not Grindr, believe it or not. Although, I did recently re-download and re-delete the app this week. All it takes is a couple of swipes on Grindr or Tinder for me to want to pull my eyelashes out, and/or move to Tibet and become a monk.

Wait. Are monks the guys in Tibet? Are monks the people that don't talk? I'm confused. I don't think I could do the whole vow of silence thing. At this point, a vow of chastity wouldn't require much effort, though. "Dry" is an understatement.

Wait. Why are we talking about this? I don't know. Okay. Moving on.

Got out of bed, then did my thing at the Witch Cave. The same damn old routine. Why do I hate a routine when it is forced upon me? Why do I hate anything that is forced upon me? I think I have a deep hatred for authority and commands. I don't like being told what to do. Unless I ask, of course.

I left the Witch Cave, got to work, and settled in behind the front desk.

It was Mom's birthday today. Since I was working the desk, I had time to call her. I always end up calling Mom while I work at the desk, and we chat for however long I can. It's nice, because it's a distraction for me. I'm sure Mom enjoys it, too.

I like to multitask. For example, when I do all of my writing, online shopping, and eBay bidding while at work. It's 2016, man. Multitasking is a necessity. Listen. I made that skill set very clear on my resume. I'm great at multitasking and juggling multiple tasks at once. It's just that those tasks aren't always work-related. Oh, well! When you don't care about getting fired, I find there's less pressure to perform.

After my chat and birthday wishes with Mom, I did some online shopping and responded to a variety of messages that I had ignored again all weekend. One of those messages was from Tito, which was actually slightly hilarious. I received the message while at Casa Z with Dan yesterday, which was the day after I saw Tito at The Beaver on Saturday night.

I was by no means blackout drunk on Saturday night. I definitely remember telling Tito about my foot. However, I also have a habit of telling different stories to different people when they ask why my foot is bandaged.

Sometimes, I'll start with the old, "I was run over by a bus," story, and eventually tell them the truth. I guess I never spilled the tea with Tito, though. I didn't finish telling him what had actually happened, so he really thought that I was run over by a bus.

Tito: "Nice seeing you!! Lol you didn't even finish telling me about your accident"

Kurt: "Oh haha yeah it was a moment. Nice seeing you as well"

Tito: "Lol a moment to try. Are u alright tho?"

Kurt: "Yeah it's getting better. It's been 2 months"

Tito: "Oh damn. Like how does one get hit? Were you walking?"

Obviously, at this point, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck with Tito. Working at the desk on a Monday isn't exactly a riveting experience, so I trolled him. I stuck with my story, and Tito believed it.

Kurt: "Yeah I got too close to a city bus"

Although, my trolling eventually got to the point where I realized that perhaps this wasn't a good thing? Like, are people are so willing to believe that I would actually get run over by a bus? Do I give off that vibe?

While swimming at Casa Z with Dan over the weekend, I asked him if I looked like the type of person who would get run over by a bus. Without even a half-second of hesitation, Dan responded with a very loud, "Yes!" Fuck. Tito seemed to be of the same mindset.

Kurt: "I think the worst part is that people aren't even that surprised when I tell them. As if it's totally conceivable that I would get run over by a bus"

Tito: "Lol omg I kind of thought the same, I don't know why? Like, there goes Kurt again. Hit by the bus."

Great. Just great.

The problem is, it's true. How do I even argue with that logic? I don't want to get caught up in what people think of me, but clearly, I have developed a reputation for being a bit of a mess. That's not exactly something I am proud of. A "bit" of a mess is probably an understatement, too. Oy. My antics have given me enough material for an entire anthology, but given the swimming pool worth of alcohol I've ingested over the past seven years, I might not have enough brain cells left to write the damn thing anymore.

To me, these types of stories are funny. As in, it's so much more entertaining to tell people the, "I was run over by a bus," story than explain to them that my feet have high arches, and the resulting hammertoes needed surgery. That's not fun. That's gross. I didn't expect people to take the bus story seriously, though. It was so funny to me! I see someone like Mariah Carey, who makes all these ridiculous jokes about having a circus at her wedding, or wanting 25 puppies in her dressing room. I think that kind of dramatization is hilarious.

All of that being said, I do this to myself. At the end of the day, even though it's slightly disturbing that I've developed a quasi-unfavorable reputation, I'd rather that than someone not even think about me. Right? Maybe? At the very least, I sure as hell know how to leave an impression. What that impression is depends on the person, I guess. Some people just don't "get it." Sucks to be them!

From the moment I woke up this morning, I was absolutely starving. You'd have thought I hadn't eaten in 40 days and 40 nights. Not by the sight of my body, which is something I'll touch on later, but because of the amount of food I was funneling down my fucking gullet all goddamn day.

I started eating at 10 a.m. today, and didn't stop until I brushed my teeth before bed. It was outrageous. I've also been swiping food from the kitchen at work like one of those egg-stealing lizards, and that's because I have to do it secretly since I stopped paying for the meal plan. I'll look around the building like a crazy person, make sure nobody is watching, and then grab food by the handfuls and stuff it down my throat before I get caught. It's equal parts disgusting, gluttonous, and ridiculous – just like me! I'll probably have a variation of that statement put on my epitaph. Or maybe just, "It was a moment!" We'll see. At the rate I'm going, I should probably figure out something soon. That, and who I'm going to have transcribe my journal entries and leave my vinyl records to. All very important matters in the life and death of Aunt Sassy.

I left work at 4 p.m., did my usual walk home while listening to deafening whistle notes that have contributed to a severe lack of hearing lately – I'm being serious, I think my hearing took a sharp decline around the same time as my Mariah Carey obsession developed – and then settled in at my apartment for the night. I was going to say that's when the eating started, but that's really when it continued. I smoked a ton of weed, and the binge eating lasted all night.

I sat around watching TV, doing God knows what. Certainly not writing, that's for sure. I was very stoned. I just finished masturbating, and now I'm going to bed. Any physical movement is very difficult right now.

My body is atrocious. I've hit an ultimate high/low. High weight, and low emotional level. In this current physical state, I have no business being out in public. I look like I swallowed a watermelon! I had absolutely no self-control today. I'm going to try and dream of running.

Goodnight xo