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

August 3

August 3

I'll just start off with this, because I want to get it off my chest and I don't want to talk about it again. I didn't hear from RX at all today. Not that I was really expecting to. But, it would have been nice, you know? I suppose I could have messaged him.

I can't believe I told RX that I loved him last night. Like, what fucking planet am I on? I should have all electronic devices taken away from me. Although, given my history, I'm sure I would find a way around my own rulings. Perhaps I could train a pigeon to fly up to his balcony with a rose or something. I am psychotic.

At the end of all of this Pride party drama, I've realized two things:

1. Yeah. I over-reacted. If a friend told me this story about their ex, I would probably think that ex was insane. I suppose there is a lot of context in this case. Still, I over-reacted and I fucked it up as usual.

2. On the other hand, I've put my relationship with RX in a better place than it was. I had to say something about what happened. If I didn't, I wouldn't want to talk to RX again. Even if I did, the unresolved issue would still bother me. Now, or in six months, it was going to come out.

Things with RX are just – they just are. I wouldn't say that they're good, but they're definitely not bad. I feel better. I am glad that I expressed myself. The saga continues, and I have no doubt that it will continue to continue.

Now, today.

I woke up early, feeling rested for once. I had a relaxing morning in bed, made breakfast, prepped for my Hot Docs interview, and packed my bag. I had the entire day off, and a laundry list of things I wanted to get done. Packing a bag meant organizing it to include everything I would need for the next 12 hours.

I took the subway to my interview at Hot Docs. It went well. I think? I never know how to read those things, but there was definitely no shortage of verbiage coming from my mouth. I think the managers were really impressed that I had taken the initiative to visit the theater and talk to their employees. I did feel at times that I was saying too much, though. I tried to curb it, but I couldn't help myself. I also probably pissed them off a couple of times. I really went to town with calling out monstrous inefficiencies in their merchandising efforts.

Naturally, my interview wouldn't have been complete without a major fuck up. This morning, that came when I forgot my fucking job title at The Clubhouse. I literally couldn't remember what I had written down on my resume. I must have looked like a complete moron. Oy. What a schmendrick!

Today's interview felt different from the ones I had at the beginning of the year. Part of me thinks it's a confidence thing. I've now learned how to handle the same standard interview questions, but there's also a part of me that thinks there's much less pressure.

I have nothing to lose if I don't get the position at Hot Docs. I already have a job. If I don't get it, it's not like I'll be back to looking for work. I mean, I will. But, it won't be out of necessity. To be honest, unless this new job came with a wage higher than $16/hour – which is what I'll be getting paid at The Clubhouse come September – they can give it to another candidate. Even at $16, it would be a lot more work than I am currently doing. I just hate the front desk at The Clubhouse so much, though. That alone is worth leaving for another job. We'll see what happens.

Jumping forward for a minute to 11:30 p.m., I received an email from The Toronto Film Group about the Digital Engagement job I applied for, explaining what I had already come to terms with in my head. They want someone with analytical skills. Even though I could likely pick up those skills over time, I don't currently hold the experience that other candidates have. There's only so much you can fake. The Digital Media manager did say that he wanted to include me in projects, and if I had any ideas to submit them to him. However, he also said that to me last December. I don't like empty promises.

I drove up north from this morning's interview like a bat outta hell. I had a follow-up appointment for my foot with Dr. Europia at the hospital, and I knew I was going to be late. Much to my surprise, I arrived on time and was seen right away. That was a first. I think I left the hospital within ten minutes of parking. By OHIP standards, that's a full-blown fucking miracle. I suppose I paid my dues after the fact, though. The next stop was Dr. Cohen's office, where I waited over an hour for my appointment. Granted, I was an hour early. But, still. Life would be a lot easier if everyone worked around my schedule!

My appointment with Dr. Cohen was fine. He said that there was no problem with me stopping my anti-depressant cold turkey, given that I haven't experienced any side effects apart from the occasional light-headedness. Dr. Cohen also said that a decrease in sex-drive was very common with the medication I was on. I should be back to normal in another two weeks, as the drugs take around three weeks completely leave your system. This was all good news. I'm happy to be off the pills, and I want to continue with it.

After some grocery shopping, I stopped by Casa Z and then continued downtown to the Witch Cave and made dinner. I also went to the gym and did my thing. It feels really good to be back in that environment. There's something so comfortable about the gym. It's very encouraging.

The gym is like a library, but for your body. In the same way that a library is recognized as an institution for learning – to exercise your brain – a gym is where you go to exercise your body. Working out in a gym is a completely different experience than doing crunches on your living room rug in front of the TV. The gym motivates me. It feels good. I think about a lot of things while I'm exercising – both good and bad – but those visits are absolutely necessary to get my body back together.

I think a lot about Logan at the gym. I think it's because I was spending almost every day there during my complete and utter mental breakdown during the winter months. I'm not even a fraction as distraught over that whole situation as I was a few months ago, but I definitely still think about it.

Logan hurt me. I don't want to say things like, "Oh, I over-reacted," or, "I shouldn't have been that upset," or, "I can't believe I was such a mess." Those statements negate my feelings from that time in my life. Logan was a very big learning experience for me, and one that I doubt I will ever forget. At a time in my life when so many things were going wrong, Logan crushed me. I'm excited to go back to New York City and make new memories. I need it.

After a locker room sauna moment, I took the subway home from the gym and immediately got ready for bed. I'm so fucking tired right now. I can't believe that I have been up this long. I mean, I can. I do this every day for work. But, today was just non-stop since the minute I left my apartment.

I'm chafing between my legs like a motherfucker. I'm talking about a "16-year-old, 230 pounder at Walt Disney World in August humidity" level of chafing. There's blood. It hurts so bad, and it's yet another reason as to why I want to get my body back in shape. At this point, it's not even a want. It's a physical need. Tomorrow is a new day, and it will be great.

I took a Xanax before bed. Once I close out this journal entry, I want to fall into a Sleeping Beauty-style slumber. Except, my Prince Phillip in the morning will be Mariah Carey singing the opening notes to "Fly Away (Butterfly Reprise)" from the bathroom, which is now where I keep my phone at night so that I am forced to get my Speedo-tanned fat ass out of bed.

That's enough for now.

Goodnight xo