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

September 27

September 27

I'll be honest. These entries are getting kind of stale. It feels like the only thing that's worse than going to a job that I hate every day, is coming home to write about how much I hate it.

Work is work. I have three months left. Although, sometimes I think about my decision to quit while I'm sitting at my desk in a moment of comfort, and I wonder, "Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe I should stick it out." I begin to question my decision to leave in December, and I have to remind myself that I am more than this job. I want more out of my life. It scares me to think that I could end up putting in thousands of more hours/days/months/years into this personal hell of mine, effectively wasting these last few years of my 20s when I have the opportunity to jump.

I want to take this leap of faith into the unknown. I want to have an adventure while I can, and I want to do it now so that the "jump" I make isn't off the rooftop patio of The Clubhouse. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about The Plan. It scares me. I question a lot of my abilities and talents, wondering if I am adequate or "enough" to succeed in a field such as writing. At this point, it's the only thing I can see myself doing, though. To be honest, that's a good enough reason for me to just pack up my things and go for it.

I weighed myself this morning. Despite healthy eating, daily exercise, cutting out alcohol, weed, and late-night binge eating, I have gained weight. I'm now over 190 pounds. I don't know how this is happening to me. Why is this such a recurring issue in my life? It makes me sick. I also worry that if this trend continues and I don't begin to slim down, I'll eventually resort to making myself sick again. The thing is, I'm not even eating enough that I would be able to throw up. If only I could get swine flu again. If only.

I was thinking a lot about RX yesterday. A Will & Grace Hillary Clinton promotional video was floating around social media, and I had this thought that he was going to text me about it. I was sure RX was going to message me. He didn't. But if he did, my plan was to read it and then respond to his message four days later. You know, just like he does to me. Well, this afternoon, while I was sitting at my desk in the middle of my usual work/internet/work/internet routine, RX messaged me.

RX: "To make us feel old, today is the 20th anniversary of Sabrina the Teenage Witch"

I didn't respond right away. However, I also didn't wait four days like I said I would. Maybe 15 minutes.

Kurt: "I am eternally young. But thanks for the reminder!"

That was the end of our conversation, if you can even call it that. RX never messaged me back. I don't know what he gains from that. Maybe I came off as rude. I don't know. I don't want to waste any more energy on RX, but it's hard when these kinds of messages come through. The last two have been from him, though. I'm not initiating or engaging with him anymore.

I'm not interested in having a digital relationship with RX. If he wants to meet up and do something tangible, I would be interested. Enough with the short-lived text message conversations, though. I feel like I'm texting a social media account. I want to say that it makes me sad, but it doesn't. It used to, but something has changed for me recently. I think I'm just tired of the run-around with RX. I'm tired of a lot of things, really.

I didn't see much of Big Bird today, which was a bonus to say the least. I also managed to get a bit of personal writing started, which was a bit of a blessing. Work has certainly picked up in the office, though. Big Bird expects more of me, so I can't pound away at the keyboard like I used to. I don't like getting into the zone with my writing, only to be interrupted by an email, phone call, task, or worst of all, Big Bird eating a fucking hardboiled egg.

I'm not kidding. A fucking egg! I almost threw up. I'm not sure if Big Bird popped it out of her own sack, but she started peeling a stank, sulfur motherfucker right in the middle of our shared desk. I almost ralphed my Trader Joe's Fiberful Granola Bar. Big Bird, you've gone too far.

Fortunately, there was a slight positive at work today. I made eyes with a guy who was working in the event space just outside my office all day. A total stranger who was there for a meeting, but I smiled at him earlier in the day. While I was leaving the office and his group was on a break, I also complimented his outfit. I would have talked to him more, but when the clock struck 4:30 p.m. this Cinde-fuckin'-rella had to get the hell outta Dodge. Maybe I'll do some further investigating tomorrow.

Back at the Witch Cave, I made dinner, watched TV, and took my standard nap. It's such a fucking trap for me to come home after work. I always say that I am going to be productive, and then I end up passing out on my bed. At the same time, I don't like to work out and then come home, eat dinner, and go to bed on a full stomach. Oh, well. I'll just count my nap towards my hours of sleep during the night.

Following my slumber, I schlepped to the gym and did my standard routine before schlepping right back home. The weight thing really bothered me today. Well, it bothers me every day. Today it just really got to me, though. I've been trying so hard, and there hasn't been even the slightest bit of progress. If anything, things have gone the other way.

I looked around as I made my way through the city tonight. I saw all of these guys with flat stomachs, slim legs, and great skin. I hated myself. It's more than just physical, though. When I feel this disgusted with myself, I just want to crawl away. I'm ashamed of my body. Although the moments of 170 pounds were short-lived this spring, it felt so good to be comfortable in my own skin. Maybe one day I'll get there. I'm just so tired of always being a "work in progress." When will I be good enough?

Goodnight xo