Hi, I'm Kurt. A binge-drinking, pill-popping disco diva with a heart of platinum and an appetite for self-destruction.
Welcome to Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2).
Adapted from a collection of nightly...
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August 16
Given that this is a short week for me, my goal was to get to work as early as possible each day and stay until 6 p.m. – all in the hopes of getting in some extra hours so I wouldn't take a huge hit on my next paycheck.
Well, it turns out that me getting to work before 9 a.m. is never going to be a thing. I simply cannot be vertical before a certain hour. I did manage to get to work for 9 a.m. today, though. And with Big Bird away again, it was a fucking glorious day.
Once in my office, I finished the few items I had to do and then worked towards bullshitting some other projects. When Big Bird returns, I want to have something to show her. Let's be real, though – it's not all that much.
After finishing my "work," I escaped to the Scotiabank near my apartment. I needed to pick up a new credit card after my last one had been compromised. While I was on the streetcar, I remembered that tonight was the Go-Go's farewell concert at Massey Hall. I never ended up getting those tickets.
Today was also Natasha's birthday. When I sent her a message this afternoon, I asked if she would want to see the Go-Go's with me. I didn't get a response, but continued looking for tickets. I didn't find much. I also didn't have time on the subway to start sifting through Craigslist. I could do that at my desk!
Although I was expecting my trip to the bank to be a quick visit, I ended up being gone for over an hour. Nobody noticed. At least, I don't think they did. That's the thing with The Clubhouse. You might think everything is fine, but then things will come out a week or two later about something you've completely forgotten about. This is likely due to the secret notes that are compiled and shared each week at the managers' meeting. I stumbled upon some of them in Lucy's office one day, and they were fucking juicy. The notes contain dirt on every fucking employee in the building. Sometimes, they even mention who is next to be fired. It's ridiculous, yet not at all surprising. The Clubhouse hosts more gossip than Beverly Hills High School.
The day progressed. After my late lunch, a nap under my desk, and a couple episodes of The Nanny, I re-remembered that tonight was the Go-Go's concert. I started searching for tickets again, and ended up finding someone on Kijiji who was selling a single ticket – in the front row! They wanted $90, but I pushed for $60. We went back and forth for a while, during which I found out that Hannah from work was also going to the concert, and eventually settled on $70 with the promise that I would pick up the ticket. Deal!
I had planned on staying at work until 6 p.m., but the Go-Go's trumped everything. I ran out the door at 5 p.m. Since the streetcar had decided to stop operating this evening, I decided to continue running. After grabbing a beer and a small bottle of vodka from the liquor store during a cash-back transaction, I sprinted to the subway like a maniac. Next stop: Summerhill Station.
I met the Kijiji woman outside her office building. A huge Go-Go's fan, the lady said she had too much work to do and couldn't make it to the concert anymore. Fine by me! I threw her $70, grabbed my ticket, and then ran back to the subway. I wanted to get a bit of exercise in at the gym, so I did half of my normal routine – probably less – and then raced home to the Witch Cave.
