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 26
All I want to do right now is go to bed. Work was actually busy today. When you finally have something to do, the day doesn't drag on as much. Surprise, surprise! Why is it that when I close my eyes for five minutes in bed, 30 minutes goes by in a flash? Yet, when I close my eyes for five minutes at work, only 30 seconds go by? Damn it, time! You screwed me again.
Big Bird was beyond annoying today. It got to the point that I had to cover my ears because she was talking so loud on the phone. It was bad. Big Bird's voice is not unlike an early bird chirping outside your window, who won't shut the fuck up when you're trying to sleep and/or focus on something. 90% of the time, I don't even listen to Big Bird. I've given up on trying to sift through the endless stream of regurgitation that spews from her beak in an attempt to find her point. I'm over it. Well, duh!
When I daydream about quitting, I almost feel a sense of vengeance. As if my resignation is going to be a great "fuck you" moment. I imagine myself walking out of The Clubhouse as the Membership Department bursts into flames behind me. But then, Big Bird will be really nice. That leaves me feeling guilty, because I know she's going to be totally screwed without me. Either way, it's happening. I'm quitting. It doesn't matter how I feel about it.
I cannot wait to leave this overwhelming sense of guilt and shadiness behind me when I hand in my notice. It's like when you're in a relationship and you know it's over before the other person, but you have to wait until the right time to officially break it off. Come December 1, Big Bird is getting that note. Perhaps I should arrange for some flowers to be delivered? What do people do when they break up? I usually send a text or make myself unavailable through a series of elaborate lies, but that's not really an option in this case.
The Clubhouse's bi-monthly Open House event was at 6 p.m. tonight. Right before I left my office to welcome the new members, I received a text message from Emma. She was apologizing for not including the copy I had written for today's newsletter. Every Wednesday, the Clubhouse sends out a weekly newsletter email to its members. Although it's not the Membership Department's responsibility, Big Bird makes me do a complete overhaul of the copy every week, because it's so poorly written. This is typically a waste of my time, as Lucy and Emma don't include all of my changes.
In classic Kurt fashion, I spoke up about the newsletter issue today. I was annoyed. Big Bird had essentially wasted an hour of my time, asking me to make changes that were once again overlooked. As she usually does, Big Bird then disappeared for an hour without any notice. I didn't think anything of it, but I guess Big Bird went upstairs to cuss out Emma. Hence the apology text at the end of the day. As if I really cared, or if it was even that big of a deal. Just don't waste my time. That's why I brought it up. Not that my opinion is going to make a difference. Big Bird is still going to have me peel postage stamps off of old envelopes and reuse them with a glue stick. Oy.
I hosted Open House until 8 p.m., which was incredibly awkward. I don't enjoy large group settings like that, and Open House is even more cringeworthy now that I'm not drinking. I've also realized why I get so drunk all the time at social events. I occupy my anxious mouth with a drink so that I don't have to talk. I only drank water tonight, but that glass never left my lips. I don't enjoy small talk.
That being said, I do enjoy receiving frantic messages, phone calls, and voicemails from Dan. While I was "using the bathroom" to escape the torture of Open House, Dan was reaching out with some very, very big news. Mariah fucking Carey is coming to Toronto next week for a holiday event at Hudson's Bay! I will do everything in my power to see the Queen of Christmas.
After Open House, I went to the gym. Once I had finished my routine, it was just before midnight by the time I got home. I couldn't believe the time when I finally sat down on my bed for the night. It's after 12:30 a.m. right now. I don't even have any ideas on what I wanted to write about tonight. I can't remember anything. Once again, my brain is complete mush.
I tried on clothes for tomorrow night's TIFF BOOMBOX event when I got home. The mini-fashion show only resulted in more anxiety over my body. After I finally decided on a tentative outfit, I rubbed one out. Now, I'm ready to turn off the lights.
I'm losing weight, but not fast enough. Despite not having had anything substantial to eat in the past three days, I still feel like I am morbidly obese. I'm fucking starving. There are no words to describe my hunger. My head hurts, my stomach hurts, and I'm still carrying a 38-inch spare tire around my mid-section. This bloat is giving me more anxiety than all of the Ghosts of Grindr's past combined. Lordt help me.
