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

August 25

August 25

Getting to work for 9 a.m. is such a struggle, it's not even funny. Honestly, all I need is one night when I can get more than eight hours of sleep and I'll be good to go. I need fucking sleep!

I found myself so anxious about being late for work and having Stella yell at me this morning, I jumped out of bed twice before my alarm had even gone off. Both times, I made it halfway through my morning routine before I even looked at the clock, only to realize that I still had ample time to continue sleeping. Eventually, I got out of bed a third time, and was able to clean up my apartment and get my life together before heading out the door.

The other day, I reached out to my friend Sophia for some advice on visiting an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Sophia said she would set me up with one of her girlfriends in town who would bring me to a meeting with her, and this morning I woke up to that follow-up message. To be honest, I'm kind of excited to go. It's very daunting to pick a meeting, as there are so many scattered across the city. I'm not afraid to go alone, but it will definitely be nice to have some company. At the very least, now I know where the good meetings are.

After arriving at The Clubhouse three minutes late, I was fully expecting Stella to be waiting for me around any given corner, ready to berate me and take me out at the knees like the Tonya Harding she is. Fortunately, Stella was off today. I could fucking relax.

Today at the front desk was alright. The Clubhouse was supposed to send out a massive Toronto International Film Festival party invite around 11 a.m., but it was delayed until about 4 p.m. That meant I had lots of time to get some writing done before the RSVPs started coming in. Not that it mattered, though. I was constantly interrupted by co-workers and members all day. The audacity! Getting my own work done was an uphill battle, to say the least. Fuck off, people! Don't you know I'm trying to take over the world? Other than that, the rest of my day was spent eating, trolling the internet, and drinking a lot of water.

I'm still talking to a number of guys on Grindr and Tinder. One of them asked me on a date yesterday. The guy wants to go out for drinks next week, so I might have to be the lame one and suggest a coffee instead. I don't want to drink alcohol right now. I feel like I am 18 again. All of my friends are boozing it up, but I have absolutely zero interest in it. Dating is hard enough to find the time for as it is. Am I now doomed to spend the rest of my romantic life making up excuses as to why I don't want to drink? It's so annoying.

All of that being said, I'm feeling much better these days. I can't believe it's already been a week since we touched down in New York City. It's weird how fast time passes when you're having a complete mental breakdown.

My teeth have been hurting a lot lately. I keep catching myself clenching my front ones, but I'm hoping it's not a permanent thing. I have a feeling it might be stress-related.

Lunch was nice. I ate my salad, then went in the handicapped bathroom and rubbed one out before returning to the desk and working in a more relaxed mood. Hey, I've got to de-stress whenever and wherever I can! Niall is so fucking high-strung, the guy makes me want to pull out my eyelashes. I also can't understand a goddamn thing he says with that Irish accent. Whenever Niall starts lecturing me about the front desk, I just want to shove his freckled face in a bowl of Lucky Charms and drown him in the sugared milk. Shut the fuck up, you nugget. Or I'll slam a pot of gold on your head.

Apparently, one of the other front desk employees put in his two weeks' notice last night. Thanks a lot, Franco! Why doesn't anyone think of me and my needs? This is totally going to fuck me over for Las Vegas and Mariah. Oh, well. Not my problem. A part of me wants to get fired, just to see what it would be like. I say that now, but it's probably a horrible idea. Just let Kurty see Mariah, take him off the front desk, and nobody will get hurt. Okay? Okay!

The TIFF invitation email went out at 4 p.m. Immediately after that, hundreds of RSVP emails and phone calls started pouring in. It was insane. There were also three different events checking into The Clubhouse at the same time, so to say things were chaotic would be a complete understatement. Oh, and it was also pouring rain outside. Everything that could go wrong was happening all at once. I needed to get the fuck out of Dodge. Despite having eaten everything in sight throughout the day, I was also absolutely starving. Big surprise.

As usual, Franco arrived late for his evening front desk shift. Once I had passed the torch and Franco had finished changing out of his soaking wet clothes – I lent him my uniform shirt for his shift – it was 7 p.m. by the time I got back to the Witch Cave.

I skipped the gym again tonight. As such, it has now been a week since my last visit. Shit. I feel as fat as a fucking house. I also cannot control my appetite to save my life. After getting home, I ate everything in sight. I funneled enough food down my gullet to bust someone's gut, and then decided I would make a grilled cheese with fries. While that was cooking, I was eating maple butter by the spoonful. What a hot fucking mess. What a disgrace. Fuck.

As I'm writing this now, my teeth are still grinding. Something is going on. I'm sitting here with my mouth closed, and I continue to catch my top and bottom front teeth touching and rubbing against one another. What the hell is happening? This has got to be a weird stress thing. I've dealt with grinding and clenching on my back teeth before, but never on the front. Could it be residual side effects from a lack of caffeine – I'm out of pills – or the Xanax? Maybe a lack of sleep? A surplus of stress? It's freaking me out. I'm going to wear my mouth guard to bed. What the fuck, man! I can't handle any more damage to my teeth.

I'm ready to pass the fuck out. It's only 11:30 p.m., so maybe tonight I will get my eight hours of sleep. We'll see.

I am so excited for the weekend. Zoe is home from Australia, so she's coming to visit. Not only that, but Naomi might fly in from Vancouver to join us. How amazing would that be? The three of us haven't been together since our Florida days – six years ago! I need some old school friend time. Katya and Melanie are also going to be in town next week, so this is going to be great for me. There are so few people around here that I can truly confide in. When any of these long-time friends come into town, you best believe I will drop everything to spend time with them. They are so important to me. I'll always make time for my girls.

I just realized that I never followed up with Mr. Sheffield about rescheduling our date. Oh, well. I don't think that was going to work out, anyway. I would also rather avoid the alcohol if possible.

I'm trying to think of what else is worth updating. Oh, I sent my 9,000+ word Fire Island story to the boys and they all read it. Afterwards, Evan texted me outside of the group chat and offered to help me in any way he could. I really appreciated his message. It was nice to see Evan come through the way he did. That's a good friend.

I'm sitting here on my bed, looking like the goddamn Octo-Mom. Or perhaps Mariah Carey when she was pregnant with twins. Either way, I need a fucking food intervention. Let's be honest, I need any and every intervention out there. However, right now I really need to cool it with the eating. I don't know what's going on with me this week. Even now, I could easily go for a full plate of chicken fingers. It's insane.

I have to go to bed. I'm going to try and dream of exercising. I need all the help I can get.

Goodnight xo