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

July 30

July 30

I wasted the entire fucking day.

Lately, I've been feeling so lightheaded. I'm not sure if it's because I'm smoking a lot of weed, or if it's a side effect from the drug withdrawal stuff and me not taking my anti-depressant anymore. Either way, I cannot smoke weed tomorrow. At the very least, I have officially gained a solid eight pounds. I weighed myself this morning, and it's not a pretty picture. I need to get this under control.

As per my weekend agenda, I slept in pretty late. It was about 12 p.m. by the time I went downstairs, and that was only because Mom said lunch was ready.

"What are we eating?" I yelled from the top of the staircase.

"Chicken fingers and fries!" Mom shouted back.

Do you see the dilemma I face? Fuck.

Once I demolished my lunch and an entire bottle of chipotle mayo, it was only downhill from there. I went upstairs, made my bed, and decided it was pool time. Naturally, that also meant marijuana time.

Do you ever feel like a witch when you hit a bong? I do. It's something about the bubbles, the smoke, and perhaps the glass skull that I'm smoking out of. At this point, me being an old hag isn't a huge stretch. There are definitely some boys who I would like to see bite into a poisoned apple, too. That would be so fucking great.

Once I was nice and stoned, I spent a couple of hours by the pool, listening to Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation 1814 album and doing laps in the water. I figured that I should try and get some exercise in, so I just swam back and forth until I could no longer hear due to water blockage. At this point, it's better than nothing. I've got to combat my excessive intake of chocolate almonds somehow. After that, I had my first sauna moment in over two months. When that was over, I settled into a pair of shorts and a hoodie for the rest of the night.

This afternoon, I decided that I'm going to make the most of the next two months. I want to get a little crazy. It all started with me wanting tickets to see The Go-Go's on Natasha's birthday. I really want to fucking see them! Tickets are $100, though. Nobody seems willing enough to pay that. We'll see.

I also want to go to New York City with the boys. They're all going for a weekend trip next month, and I've finally come around to the idea. However, I'm actually scheming for a trip to Fire Island with Kevin Sutherland. I also want to go to Montreal, concerts, Las Vegas, and maybe even California. It dawned on me today that I've spent so much of my summer out of commission because of this damn foot. I'm tired of it.

I want to go to New York City, because I want to erase all of my Logan memories and replace them with new and exciting adventures. Logan ruined New York City for me. First it was RX, now it's Logan. I can't let them ruin it for me. I can't let them win. I need to go back. And when I do, I want to look great – which is exactly why I need to switch to a diet of vegetables and liquids right now.

My body is so fucking screwed. I also forgot my running shoes downtown – probably because I'd "forgotten" that I even had running shoes after spending the last two and a half months out of them – so I can't even exercise the way I wanted to this weekend. I'm also worried my toe isn't healing properly. That's going to be a real pisser if I need to have corrective surgery, because I want this whole thing to be over. At this point, just chop the damn thing off. Maybe then I'll actually fit into my shoes.

I stayed up late tonight, ignored everyone's messages from about 4 p.m. onward, and watched Michael Moore's Where to Invade Next with Mom and Dad while we ate dinner. I don't want to deal with anyone right now. Even with good friends, I find myself limiting my communication. I cannot keep up with the messages. For every one message I send, I'll receive 15 in return. As a result, I find myself spacing out my responses. Otherwise, I'm effectively committing myself to 30-minute exchanges all day.

Upstairs, smoked some more, made Instagram videos, and now I'm going to bed way too late.

I'm going to a hot yoga class with Mom tomorrow, which should be a good way to initiate my health kick. No amount of water can help me now. It's all about eating. I have such a horrible diet. If only I could fix my eating habits, all of my problems would go away. At least, that's my belief.

I'm fairly active. I work out when I can, which is only a half-lie, and I walk home from work every day. But, I eat garbage. It's a mixture of eating garbage, and just eating too fucking much. I don't eat a ton of junk food, which is another half-lie, but I eat a lot of everything else. Nobody needs to be eating four pitas and a container of hummus as a "pre-dinner snack." That's gluttony at its fucking peak.

Get it together, girl. If you're going to Fire Island looking like this, you're sure as hell not taking your shirt off. The last thing we need is Greenpeace being called in to take care of the "beached whale."

Goodnight xo