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 27
Honestly, I think that the composition of my body's fat and muscle balance was changed during my surgery recovery. To be carrying around an extra 15 pounds right now seems somewhat absurd. I mean, where is it? I'm bigger, I know that. I'm not that much bigger, though. All of my clothes fit, too. So, where the hell is the weight? Perhaps it just changed into muscle? It makes no sense. Anyway, I looked good today. That's what mattered.
While standing in front of the mirror at the gym tonight, I thought to myself how vain it is to derive my happiness from losing weight. The problem is that this is what I've always wanted. I was that 12-year-old kid who would pray every night before bed to be thin. I still am. When I get close to my goal weight, I feel so much better about myself. I feel confident, attractive, and ready to take on anything that gets in my way. When I feel my body slipping away from me, I panic and feel ugly. That's why I stay away from eating out as much as I can. I can't control myself. It's the same reason why I go to the gym so obsessively. The act itself is healthy, but the mentality is so fucked up. My happiness shouldn't be derived from my physical appearance. It needs to be a constant that comes from within. I just haven't found a way to maintain that yet.
Work was alright. I spent the better part of the day researching Mariah Carey's upcoming visit to Toronto, and brainstorming ways to get access to her. We literally had a Clubhouse member call our office today, because she knew that I loved Mimi and wanted to forward me a press release. This is what happens when you introduce yourself as a Mariah fan. Also, Lawrence knows the head of the PR agency that's running the event. The bossman sent a message to someone on her team so we can connect. I need this to happen! If I get one thing out of this Clubhouse hellhole, I want it to involve Mariah Carey.
Big Bird was very annoying today. I've been really short with her lately, to the point where I won't stop talking when she tries to interrupt me. I'm probably pushing my attitude a bit, but I can't hold back anymore. I also don't care enough to try. The clock is ticking, Big Bird!
I left The Clubhouse just after 4 p.m. and went to the gym. After doing my thing, I then schlepped home to start getting ready for TIFF's BOOMBOX event tonight. I can't remember the last time I went out in this city, nor can I remember the last time I had a drink in my apartment. It's actually been so long that tonight was the first time I used the crystal champagne flutes Mom bought me for my birthday. I love a good flute.
While getting ready at the Witch Cave, I had a last-minute costume change. I felt really good about the way I looked. Note to self: wear more long vests and coats, because they hide your spare tire and make you feel a bit more glamorous. Also, wear more platform shoes. Tonight's look was great.
I met Kate and Natasha outside TIFF Bell Lightbox. It didn't take long for the three of us to begin drinking and partying the night away. Tonight was so much fun! I know I've said it before, but nothing makes me happier than spending time with Natasha and Kate. Our encounters are so many good feelings rolled into one. I laugh with them. I get nostalgic with them. Even though so much has changed in each of our lives, I find it extremely comforting that we can still get together as if nothing has changed. I mean, everything has changed. It doesn't feel like that, though. That's what I love.
With a drink in hand, I successfully managed to network my ass off at TIFF. I know a few employees, and made it extremely clear that I want to work there. Otherwise known as me blurting out, "Hire me, please." I also expressed my struggle with The Clubhouse – "It's like working in Hell with Satan every day" – so maybe something will come of that. Highly unlikely, but also nice to know that I still have some social skills left in me.
Tonight was a very conscious effort in controlling my drinking. By no means was I getting blackout drunk or kicked out of the party, and my endeavor was a great success. I drank a lot – it was an open bar – but still managed to keep it cute. I left the building with my dignity, or at least what's left of it. I think my alcohol hit me after we left, though. The rest of the night is kind of foggy. I think Kate left in a cab back to her house, and Natasha and I tried to get into another bar to continue drinking. You know, as if that was a good idea. We either didn't get in because I was too drunk, or because there was a $40 cover. Who in their right mind is going to pay that? No. Never. Goodbye.
I hugged my best friend goodbye, jumped in a cab, and went home. I remember thinking to myself that I was going to ditch the taxi as he pulled up to my apartment. When the total for the ride was $10, I figured I would pay the damn fare. How dare he charge me for a service I requested. Fuck. I'm so damn cheap.
I gulped the water and vitamins I had set out before I left for the party, gobbled down a granola bar, and passed out. What a great night.
