Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2)

November 26

November 26

With my weed hangover in full effect this morning, I slept in fairly late. I also didn't leave my apartment until 10 p.m., but we'll get to that in a bit.

A groggy, bloated mess, I rolled myself out of bed and picked up the pieces of my apartment until it was suitable for productivity. Since I'm moving soon – Fuck! I am quitting next week! – I've been trying to pare down a lot of the items in my apartment to make the transition easier. That means using up soaps, cleaning supplies, condiments in the fridge, recycling old papers, and making it so that there isn't anything "extra" I'm bringing home with me.

So much of me wants to downsize. I have every intention of doing so – even more than now – when I'm settled at Casa Z. Selling clothes, accessories, my old computer, and basically anything that I don't need. I suppose there's always going to be something that I don't technically need, though. I mean, when you break it down, what do I really need? Probably one tenth of what I currently own.

Apart from the no clutter aspect of downsizing, there's another pro: money. I'm going to try and sell everything. Of course, what I can't sell, I will donate to a charity. However, with no job in three weeks, I'm going to need a few extra bucks. Maybe I should start asking Mom and Dad to save their empty alcohol bottles so I can collect the deposit. I think about money a lot. This should come as no surprise.

The other week, Dan was over at the Witch Cave. Amidst a Mariah Carey listening session, I showed him the new leather jacket I'd recently ordered.

"How do you afford this?" Dan asked in disbelief.

I don't remember exactly how I responded to Dan's question. I think it was along the lines of, "I don't eat out."

The more I think about it, the more I realize how true a statement like that really is. Honestly, I don't eat out all that much. I never buy coffee at a café, I bring my lunch to work every day, and my bar bills and Uber rides are also pretty minimal. That's how I save money. I mean, yeah. There's the odd precioused dinner and transit scam here and there, but mostly, those are small items. When it comes to spending money, I splurge on clothes and travel. Although my bank account takes a serious hit every time I swipe my credit card, that's how I'm able to do it.

Anyway. Moving on.

After sifting through a ton of stuff at the Witch Cave and continuing to downsize, I had something to eat and started on my writing. Nothing prolific, but I felt very relieved when I finally closed my laptop for the day. It was a big accomplishment. When I have outstanding writing to finish, I feel incomplete. I mean, not that I personally feel incomplete, or that a part of me is missing. Instead, it's something that constantly looms over my head, reminding me that I have unfinished business. Nobody likes unfinished business!

Eventually, enough time had passed that it was now nearing 7 p.m. I had made plans with Dan earlier, and he was going to come over for drinks before we went to The Beaver for the night. After a nap, a face mask, and a nice, long shower, I started getting ready.

Yes.

That's right.

I skipped the gym today.

Now that I feel a bit more on track with my body, and have somewhat recovered from the disaster that was this summer, I'm starting to accept the fact that I'm not going to be able to exercise every day. To be honest, my body does crave it at times. I always feel better after a workout. Exercise has become a solid part of my daily routine, you know? The only problem? My feet fucking hurt. They hurt so much all the time! I don't want to push myself past the point of no return. Not to mention the fact that I also have other things I want to do with my time. While finding a balance between a healthy life and a social life is a never-ending struggle, I know it's important.

Once Dan came over, we commenced our usual catch-up and Mariah Carey watching/listening session while sipping on some drinks. Sean Mitte was having some people over at his apartment around the corner from my place, so Dan and I decided to stop by. We would just leave for The Beaver from Sean's place.

On that note, I think I'm finally settling into that group of people. And by "group of people," I mean Chad Miller. Of course, this might have something to do with the fact that Chad is finally treating me like an actual person. You know, as opposed to another gay he can get gossip out of. Well, maybe not "as opposed to." That's generous. At the very least, we'll call it "in addition to."

All of that being said, I am also fully aware that I'm an acquired taste. It takes people a while to understand me. On numerous occasions, different people – including very close friends – have told me that their initial impression of me was not the most favorable. Is that surprising, though?

Look at my dating life. Although the waters are calm now, there was a time when so many of my first dates would fail. Somehow, I would always manage to scare off a guy. I'd let it all out on the first date – well, almost all of it – causing them to take a step back. As a result, I wouldn't hear from them for a while. Like clockwork, a few weeks would go by and the guy would pop back up – like a fucking Whack-A-Mole. They'd be back, and wanting more. To be honest, I think that's because they eventually realized that the difference with me is a personality. As in, I actually have one. Our first date was so jarring for the guy, because having a conversation with everyone else in the world these days is about as interesting as watching paint dry.

Anyway. I digress. The point of that story is that I was having one-on-one conversations with people at tonight's pre-drink – the same people who wouldn't give me the time of day a few months ago.

After some of Mariah Carey's The Emancipation of Mimi, a lot of gin, and a dance with Danielle that left us both on the floor, Dan and I got in our Uber and went to The Beaver. We arrived at 11:56 p.m., meaning we had four minutes until the drink specials were over. Naturally, I wanted a deal. I'm allergic to paying full price. I ordered two double gin and waters. I think you know where this is going, but I'll continue.

Dan was talking to the bartender while she was making our drinks. Although it was completely unintentional – but a great move for future nights out – Dan was distracting the bartender to the point that she was filling my glass with about 75% gin, then topping it off with a splash of water. Needless to say, I didn't last long with that ratio.

There's about a half-hour after the bartender moment that I fully remember. This includes finishing both of my drinks before Dan had finished his single, using the bathroom, waiting for Dan on the patio while he smoked, and meeting a cute boy. After I made the cute boy use his pants to wipe down the wet picnic bench I wanted to sit on, things are foggy at best.

I really don't remember much about the night. Although I'll probably speak more about it in tomorrow night's entry, I'm very disappointed in myself. Yet another night ruined, because I didn't pay attention to my drinking. That's where the problem happens. I drink like a fucking camel. I throw back my drinks like they're nothing, until I'm past the point of no return and my night is effectively over. Except, what really happens is that the night continues. I'm just not mentally present to experience it.

Another thing I vaguely remember is talking to Dustin Hayes when I found out – and was effectively appalled – that his DJ friend was married. I offered my condolences, but I don't think the DJ was too happy about my comment. That being said, I also don't know if any of this actually happened. Oy.

I have no fucking idea what went down tonight. All I know is that I left the bar, got a cab, and went home.

Another write-off. Fuck.

Goodnight xo