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 16
As much as I wish my days were more eventful, I remember back to this past summer when they actually were that eventful, and I think to myself, "Perhaps that's not what I really want." I don't need any more injuries, arguments, disappointments, or embarrassing moments to add to my already large list. I'm okay with some quiet time right now. I should be – considering I'm the one who's responsible for it, after all.
After sleeping in, I chatted with Melanie online for a bit and then went downstairs to have breakfast and watch the rest of Chicago. That film is my current obsession. The soundtrack has been on repeat all weekend. Basically, I want to be Roxie Hart. It makes me think that I should have shot the bastard(s) when I had the chance. Well, I didn't really have the chance. Although, I guess there were balconies and windows that I could have used for some whoopsie doopsie push moments. And here I am dwelling again. Stop it!
I think about Logan and RX a lot. This often happens when I shut myself off romantically, as I have right now. Especially with RX. Of all the men I've dated, RX is the only one who I could actually see myself returning to successfully. Unfortunately, that thought fades more and more as time goes on. Truth be told, I think RX is somewhat of a back-up plan for me. That's why I obsess over him so much whenever I stop dating. I think, "Hey, maybe I've fucked up so much that I'll be alone forever. I better try and patch things up with RX so that I'll have someone to grow old with." However, in reality that will A) never happen, and B) should never happen. I don't want to return to that. So, I'm going to pull a Roxie Hart and do my own thing. Perhaps Richard Gere will help me.
My day was uneventful. I went to the mall, spent $75 on Christmas ornaments at the Disney Store, did some grocery shopping, and drove back to Casa Z. I then proceeded to eat my weight in sour keys – you fucking idiot – while watching a lackluster Amanda Knox documentary on Netflix before I hit the gym.
After my regular workout routine, I hobbled up to my room. While getting my things ready to take back downtown, Mom and Dad were arguing downstairs. It wasn't exactly a surprise, considering my parents are literally always arguing. At this point, it was the second argument of the day I had overheard. I typically tend to take Mom's side automatically, because I know she's not going to raise her voice over something idiotic. Nonetheless, I figured I would listen in on the drama.
It took me a while to figure out what Mom and Dad were talking about. After a while, I realized the argument was regarding last night's dinner party. I had overheard Dad making comments about Donald Trump – a topic of discussion from which nothing good comes – along with some questionable remarks about the women who have recently come forward to claim sexual assault charges against him. That's what Mom was angry about. Dad runs his mouth at the dinner table in front of guests on completely inappropriate topics – often just to be a shit disturber – and obviously it looks bad on Mom as a result. Dad just doesn't get it.
Then, for the first time ever, I heard Mom allude to having been "taken advantage of" herself as a rebuttal for the insensitive comments Dad had made. That's why she had more sympathy for the women than he did. I was shocked. Obviously, I knew exactly what Mom was referencing. However, that hasn't ever come up in discussion. Mom had every right to claim that argument, but obviously Dad was less than impressed. I heard Dad leave the room and sit down to watch TV, telling Mom that he wasn't going to listen to her anymore.
I continued eavesdropping from the top of the staircase. As usual, I took Mom's side. Still, I have mixed feelings about their argument. I'm guessing that Mom doesn't ever bring up their former struggles, as it's something they have worked through and buried. At the same time, I feel as though Mom was more than entitled to use that as an argument point. If that situation is behind them – because Dad apologized and agreed not to be an asshole – then he shouldn't be displaying that type of behavior and spewing ridiculous, insensitive opinions at the dinner table.
The subject of the argument was women who had been taken advantage of, and who had not come forward with their claims until now. Sound familiar? Exactly. Have some fucking respect for these women. Furthermore, have some respect for your wife. I would never intervene on that type of argument, but if Dad continues to display such a complete lack of sympathy and understanding, I wouldn't have a problem challenging him on his misogyny. It makes you wonder – can people really change?
I finished packing up, had a sauna, thought about my broken teeth the entire time, and then made a snack in the kitchen with Mom and Dad. They seemed completely normal. That's what I don't understand about the two of them. Either my parents have a good way of pretending that everything is okay, or they move on from an argument quickly. I think it's a mix of both, but the only one who's truly moving on quickly from tonight's argument is Dad. I know Mom is not over this. I hope she's alright.
Dad does a lot for our family. The man singlehandedly maintains everything outside the walls of Casa Z, and provides for us financially. There's no doubt about that. I would never argue my father's contributions. Dad's the best father you could ever ask for, and I love him more than anything. When it comes to just about everything else though, it's Mom. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, Tabitha, etc. I worry about a lot of things, but one of the biggest is the idea of Mom and Dad losing one another. I would like to think that divorce is out of the question at this point, but I can never be sure. My parents' relationship changes so drastically from day to day. I don't know. Hopefully, they worked things out after I left the house. Or, in this case, Dad got a fucking clue and brought himself into 2016 and out of his dated, sexist, and sometimes racist viewpoints.
I drove back downtown, parked the car, and walked over to the Witch Cave. After some unpacking and masturbating, I'm now writing this journal. And so, the nightly ritual begins again, as will the weekday ritual tomorrow morning.
