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 24
I've been starting my workdays at 10 a.m. in the hopes of getting some extra sleep, but I still wake up completely exhausted. Nonetheless, I managed to get my stuff together and make it to The Clubhouse right on time this morning. I also did a lot of work today. Probably more than I've done in the past two weeks combined, which was annoying because I really needed to get some writing done.
I'm so fucking hungry all the time. I literally cannot stop eating. I wonder if my appetite works in a cycle or something? Perhaps I should look into measuring it or marking it on a calendar. There are some weeks when I'm totally fine. I don't find myself that hungry, and can actually tuck a shirt into my pants without a huge bulge at my waistline. Then there are other weeks, like this one, when I am a bottomless pit. I am hungry all the time. From the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed.
What's different this time around with my hunger is that I'm giving into it. I don't care anymore. I want to eat, because I'm depressed. Food is making me feel better. At the same time, I know this isn't going to end well. I need to lock myself in the gym and get back on track. I look pregnant again. It's almost 1:30 a.m. right now. I have been feasting all night, yet I'm still hungry. What the fuck is going on? Honestly, at this point, it wouldn't surprise me if I were pregnant. Just add it to the list. Note to self: get tubes tied.
Work progressed without any issues. Every time I saw Stella, I would literally run away in the other direction – regardless of whether or not she saw me. Stella came into my office at one point today. With a big, toothy grin, she smiled and asked me how I was doing in front of Big Bird. Except, she wasn't "smiling." Stella was showing her fangs. The woman wants to fucking kill me. Other than Stella, the day was easy enough. I still managed to maintain a decent mixture of work and social media, which is a personal goal of mine while on the clock.
I'm still unsure as to how I feel about keeping Grindr and Tinder on my phone after re-downloading them in New York City. I really don't have time to be chatting with boys or going on dates, but there seems to be this influx of new men on the apps. They're keeping things interesting. It's like the apps have reset themselves. I even swiped past RX.
By the way, that's a whole fucking thing I'm not even going to discuss anymore. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You say that now. Seriously, though. What a fucking asshole. I get angry that RX brings out this much negative energy in me. From now on, I should really just cut him out. It's clear that RX was totally just humoring me earlier this month. If there were a real desire to have any sort of relationship with me, RX would have made an effort by now. There's been nothing. So, fuck that. I want to sleep with RX's friend just to piss him off. Actually, scratch that. RX's friend knows way too many gays in the city. The guy is from London, Ontario, after all. We all know what those gays are like. Incestuous, at best.
My workday wrapped up. I spent the last hour or so continuing to write my retelling of what happened on Sunday. The Fire Island journal entry is so fucking long that it has taken me three days to write. In the interest of getting my writing done, I decided that I would skip the gym tonight.
