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

September 13

September 13

Back to the grind. As in, work. Not Grindr.

After successfully hauling my ass out of bed and completing my standard morning routine, I made my way to The Clubhouse and punched in at 9:05 a.m. I had no idea of my schedule for this week, but was pleasantly surprised to learn that today was my one and only shift at the front desk. I would also be finished at 4 p.m. It was a miracle!

Once I spent my usual ten minutes opening up the desk, I changed into that God-awful uniform for what will hopefully be the last time. Following a standard post-coffee bathroom moment, I made a to-do list of everything I needed to get done at work – all of which were personal items. Obviously.

One by one, I began crossing items off my list. Overall, my workday was actually pretty great. Stella blew me off when I walked past her earlier this morning, so I thought I was in for yet another shift with the bitch from hell. Much to my surprise, Stella visited me at the desk later this afternoon and was quite pleasant. We talked about my trip, and that's when I kissed some ass and thanked Stella for helping me out with everything. Not that she did much, but still. I did the same with Lawrence. As suspected, the bossman was much more receptive to my gratitude. Either way, I figured that if I want to maintain – or even form – good relationships down the road at my hellhole of a job, I might as well try and move forward in a positive way. The drama of the last three months is now behind me, so why not give it a shot? That being said, I'll still be quitting by the end of the year. I think. I don't know.

When it comes to the future of my work and living situations, I go through so many different emotions on any given day. I can't make up my fucking mind. Naturally, after going to bed last night wishing I was out of the Witch Cave and either living at Casa Z or in California, I woke up loving my apartment this morning.

Actually, that's another thing I've been thinking about lately. Although I have come to enjoy and appreciate Toronto more than I ever thought I would, I also remember how badly I wanted to live in LA after I returned home from California in September 2012. When did I lose sight of that? California is what I've always wanted – ever since I was a kid. Somewhere down the road, it's as though I simply gave up on that dream and settled into a life here.

What does that mean for my future? Am I going to be in Toronto forever? Am I finally waking up from my complacency, and realizing that I gave up on a goal that meant so much to me? I don't want to live in Toronto anymore. I really don't. Even if it isn't California, there's so much more world out there to explore. I have so much anxiety about settling further into a life of bleakocity. That's why I feel like I just need to jump. There's so much more to it than just jumping, though. I don't know what to do. I feel as though I'm putting too much pressure on myself. As per usual, I guess. Someone has to apply that pressure, though. Right?

I finished out my day at work rather successfully, without any drama or annoyances. Afterwards, I walked home, stopping by Freeman Formalwear along the way to be fitted for my suit for Kate's wedding. While being measured, I asked the sales associate if she could give me an answer as to what a male in a bridal party is called. Am I a bridesmaid, bridesman, or groomsman? Kate refers to me as the latter, but I don't think that's right. Well, imagine my surprise when the woman – who was probably no older than 35 – said she had never heard of such a thing. Was this bitch for real? Does this mean I'm in for a lot of comments at Kate's wedding? Greg said that when he was in a girlfriend's bridal party a few years back, people kept coming up to him at the wedding and telling him how "brave" he was. Oh, fuck that. If someone says that to me at Kate's wedding, I will roll my eyes into the next week.