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

July 28

July 28

I'm very stoned right now, so I don't know how long this journal entry will be. Fuck. It's 11:13 p.m., and all I want to do is go to bed. Here we go.

I slept in as late as possible this morning, yet still managed to have breakfast, make my lunch, exercise, shower, and get to The Clubhouse on time. Didn't do much at work today. I actually got some writing done at the front desk, which was good. I also did some online banking. People kept fucking calling and interrupting me, though. Rude.

I don't pay for the meal plan at work anymore, but I still find myself eating the food all the time. I sneak food more than anything else. If I get caught, I'm going to be screwed. One of The Clubhouse's bartenders has also started making me iced coffees each day I work at the front desk, which is fucking amazing! I just can't get caught. I'd be so screwed. Working the desk today was simple pimple. I left at 6 p.m.

I'm still in the running for that Retail Coordinator position with Hot Docs. This afternoon, I confirmed my second interview with them for next Wednesday. The last email from the recruiter had three questions to think about for the upcoming interview, all pertaining to the Hot Docs theater space on Bloor Street West – "What would you sell here? What would you change here?" etc.

With those questions in mind, I knew I would have to visit the theater and do some research. After work, I walked over to Bloor Street West. Even though the theater itself was closed for a private event, I still managed to weasel my way into the concessions space. The guy at the ticketing counter was about as interesting as wallpaper, but begrudgingly let me past the front window so I could do my thing.

Without a second of hesitation, I approached all four employees working the behind the concessions counter. They were completely alone, talking amongst themselves. I don't know why it's only hitting me now, but I think I visited Hot Docs at the best possible time. I essentially interviewed those four employees for a good 15 to 20 minutes, completely uninterrupted because everyone else was inside the theater watching a movie. Amazing! We had a good chat. I actually went through each interview question with them. I expressed my gratitude, took pictures, and then left. When I got to the end of the block, I sat down on the curb for 20 minutes and made notes on everything that I had just learned.

I'm not even sure if a Retail Coordinator position would be a good job for me. However, I would rather turn down a job than throw in the towel and not even try. We'll see what happens. Hopefully, someone from the theater mentions my visit to the recruiter. I'm very resourceful when I need to be.

After Hot Docs, I decided to walk back home to get some exercise in. I ended up bailing on both Lauryn and Dan tonight for two separate sets of plans. Nothing was ever confirmed, but I said no to both of them. I don't know why. I think I just wanted to be alone.

I didn't take my anti-depressant pill this morning. I don't think that's the cause of my desire for isolation. It was just a note I wanted to make. I'm scared about the potential withdrawal side effects, but I don't want to be on the medication anymore. I also don't want to continue taking the pills for another week as I wait for my appointment with Dr. Cohen. I had the pill in my hand this morning with my usual cocktail of vitamins, but put it back in the bottle. No more.

Anyway, I wanted to be alone tonight. I'm feeling weird. I want to be social and be around people, but sometimes, like tonight, I just need to be alone. It's very hypocritical of me. I complain about being lonely, but I do it to myself. Idiot.

While walking home tonight, I made it about three blocks before I put on Butterfly. I listened to the album the whole walk home. I know this is a knee-jerk reaction to me not talking to any boys, but I'm still thinking about RX a lot. So much so, that I purposely walked past his apartment building near my place tonight – the one he moved into last month. I stood in the middle of the street, staring up at the building like it was a UFO and I was looking for a Martian. At this point, RX might as well be an alien.

I don't even understand who RX is anymore. So much of me thinks that if we ever do meet up again, we wouldn't even get along. Is that possible? Can two people change that much after a breakup? I think that's what scares me the most in all of this. I want to believe that our recent lack of communication is temporary. But, what if it's not? What if RX never talks to me again? Have we grown apart that much? I don't want to be excommunicated by someone I still have feelings for. I don't even know exactly what those feelings are – love might be one of them – but they're still there. I can't imagine never being able to express all of that to RX.

All I wanted was for RX to come to that Pride party at work. Fuck. That's what all of this stems from. Perhaps I overreacted to his lack of messaging. But, to be fair, it wasn't the first time. RX has been doing this to me for years – constantly popping up out of nowhere, and then leaving me on read. While I would like to believe that RX could see the side of me I express in my journals, I don't think he knows what a big deal it was for me to extend that invitation to him. The gesture was a big step for me, and it went completely unacknowledged. Ouch.

Back at the Witch Cave, I worked out, ate dinner, watched TV, blazed, rubbed one out, and jumped into bed. I bust my ass to write these fucking journal entries each night. It's so hard. Weed makes me so fucking lazy.

There have been so many recent nights where I'll come home and have 1001 things on my to-do list. Clean the toilet, bleach the sink, vacuum, mop, dust, write, take an Epsom salt bath, write journal entries, apply to jobs, blah, blah, blah – the list goes on. Yet, as soon as I spark up, all of that goes to shit. I don't know if it's me just forfeiting all fucks on that stuff, or if I truly lose track of time. Either way, I never seem to get anything done.

The sink is full of dishes. My stomach is full of chicken and sweet potato fries. It's not a pretty picture. I'm tired, and I want to go to bed. I wished Lucas Ingraldi a happy birthday today. I never got a response. Now, I really feel like a fucking moron. Oy. I'm such a schmegegge.

I need to go pluck an ingrown hair right now.

Goodnight xo