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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
October 14
Today was pretty bleak. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, but nothing about it really stood out.
After performing my morning routine at the Witch Cave, I had a few minutes to spare. This extra time meant I could iron a dress shirt for work and look slightly more presentable than normal. Actually, I looked pretty good today. Despite the unchanged number looking up at me from the demonic scale on my bathroom floor, of course.
Once at The Clubhouse, I dicked around for most of the day. In other words, I worked on my own stuff online. I also napped in my office chair whenever Big Bird flew upstairs for a meeting.
This afternoon, I submitted my formal request to vacate my apartment. It looks like that will start happening over the next two months. I'll have to wait to hear back from my landlord, but the goal is mid-December – just in time for me to hopefully escape to New York City for a pre-Christmas Mariah Carey concert. Although, just thinking about returning to New York City is giving me that pre-diarrhea feeling. We'll see how that part of The Plan works out. My August visit was bad enough. I don't know if I am emotionally capable of visiting New York City in December, thus facing the memories of my 2015 trip.
As much as I try not to, I still think about Logan. Time has changed a lot of my thoughts on that situation, though. I don't think about Logan as desperately and broken-hearted as I used to. Nonetheless, I do wonder if he ever thinks about me, or if I was just a quick blip and inconvenience in his life. The emotionally unstable clinger that Logan railed a few times.
I walked to the gym after work. Once inside the locker room, I quickly realized that I had forgotten my shorts at home. Considering I had already planned on visiting Casa Z this weekend, I figured that I'd just work out there instead. When neither Mom, Dad, nor Phillip were able to pick me up, I ended up going back to the Witch Cave and waited there until 8:30 p.m. when Phillip finally came back downtown with the car.
While I waited, I cleaned things up, masturbated, and listened to the Chicago soundtrack. I also began to pack a few small things from around my apartment to take home with me. If I continue with that over the next two months, I figure it will make the final move-out week that much easier. I've gone from feeling unsure about moving out, to being completely confident with my decision. I am so ready to begin something new.
Phillip picked me up around 8:30 p.m., and drove us to his place. From there, I took the car and drove up to Casa Z. We had a long conversation during our trek across the city. Honestly, it seemed to be the car ride that would never end. Phillip asked about my "book," and I shut that conversation down very quickly. Although I want to focus on my writing, I don't want people calling this thing a "book." I know it's because I've set it up that way, but I'm trying to change mindsets now. I'm not quitting my job to "write a book." Yes, I'm quitting my job and moving home to focus on my writing. No, it's not a book.
Furthermore, The Plan is not solely about writing. I need to get the fuck out of Toronto. Even this farm town (I'm at Casa Z right now). I don't want to live here. I don't know how that's possible, though. Moving to the US permanently isn't going to happen, considering my only option for immigration at this point is marriage. I can't apply for the Diversity Lottery this year, because Canada isn't eligible. As for a work visa, I'm not exactly in a field that – well, I'm not exactly in a field. We'll leave it at that.
As the car ride and conversation with Phillip progressed, I found myself wanting to talk less and less about myself and my plans for the future. A part of me is embarrassed – or at least shies away from talking about that stuff – because I feel as though I have had so many failures recently. I don't want to talk about a "next step" and reveal what I want for my future, only to have people be aware of another failure if I do not succeed again.
I want to share less about myself. I want a lot "less" in my life, in many areas. I want to downsize some things, but increase others. Lessen or erase the negatives, and strengthen or create new positives. 2016 seems like it's been one big fat bummer. I'm tired of it. I want to prove to myself that I can do something spectacular. I don't care about proving it to others. That's what's been bothering me – I don't feel special anymore.
I drove past Casa Z while crying to a Lil' Kim song. My depression got the better of me, and I stopped for a bag of sour keys at the grocery store. After that, I made my way back to the house, played with the cat, and crawled into bed. It was 10 p.m. by the time I got home. The idea of 1,500 sit-ups and an hour on the treadmill was not my idea of a nightcap.
