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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October 3
I don't like dragging on about the mundane, repetitive details of my daily life. I did the same thing I do every weekday: get up, get my food and body ready for the day, obsess over the disgusting amount of weight I still can't seem to lose, and then go to the office and pretend to work for about four of the eight hours I am there. Nothing that exciting.
I went home after work, because I knew I wanted to nap. Obviously, this was a bad idea from the start. Mom booked the hotel for our Florida trip this afternoon, so I attempted to pack a few things now that everything is 100% official. Unfortunately, I only got as far as a few t-shirts and some shorts before I made a grilled cheese, watched Netflix, and then passed out in my bed.
Around 7 p.m., I woke up from the dead. I continued lounging until 8:30 p.m., at which point I dragged my ass out of bed, got on the subway, and attended the fucking sausage fest that is the gym. I swear, it's literally just 20 meatheads competing for who can grunt the loudest or throw their weights down the hardest.
The testosterone levels at the gym are truly outrageous. It's exactly why I take an exercise mat, hide in a quiet corner, and do my thing on the floor from the comfort of my own bubble. I don't even like to look at anyone. Unless it's one of my gym crushes, of course. Sadly, there were no sightings today. I'm on the lookout, though. I am ready to make my move. Ugh. One of the guys is so handsome. At the same time, I also need to stay focused on myself. Although the numbers on my scale don't seem to budge, I have noticed some improvement in how my body is looking lately, which is slightly encouraging. If only I didn't weigh 193 pounds, then things would be a lot brighter.
My run was hell. This damn toe still feels like it's about to fall off at any given moment. It's also quite concerning, considering the fact that my foot surgery was five months ago. Netflix was a good distraction. I watched BoJack Horseman pon de treadmill before I escaped into the sauna and then took the subway home.
Back at the Witch Cave, I sent Uncle Jack a text to initiate what will eventually be a very interesting phone call. I was only asking to see if Uncle Jack was around this week to talk, but he hasn't responded. Oh, well. At the very least, the ball is now rolling. I need to have the California conversation as soon as possible so that Uncle Jack has time to think about things. For once, I need someone else to do the thinking. I seem to do enough of that on my own.
Right now, I'm just really excited about Florida. I can't wait to have some Disney magic in my life. It's been a long time. Too long. I also think it will be really nice to be together as a family. I just have to watch my attitude. I can't have any outbursts. Basically, what it comes down to is finding a way to mentally escape a room/car/airplane the moment anyone does something that I think is going to set me off. It will also help if we have a fairly good agenda for each day. God forbid we run into any, "I'm hungry, therefore I am angry,"or,"We don't have a place to eat, so let's fight about it," moments. Those are the worst. Hunger is the number one culprit of family vacation arguments. I'll make some dinner reservations tomorrow.
Continuing with the repetitive details of my daily life, it's time to masturbate and go to bed.
