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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December 14
Okay. I threw an adult temper tantrum tonight. We'll get to it eventually, but just know that it happened. I am not proud of it, but it happened. This is also the first journal entry written on my new computer. Yet another story. Here we go.
Standard wake-up, shower, and breakfast routine this morning. I've been getting smarter about it, too. In what can only be referred to as a Mom-inspired move, I've been hoarding food from the free hotel breakfast so that I have dinner to eat when I get home from work. It's a completely brilliant plan!
Once at The Clubhouse, I did my thing. Actually, I put in quite a bit of work today. Big Bird is killing me with these membership survey results. We've reached a point where nothing else on our laundry list of departure projects matters. I've just been making graph, after graph, after graph. Although it's ridiculous, I really don't care. Two more days! I secretly filmed Big Bird peeling an egg this afternoon. I needed the footage as evidence. If there's ever a moment when someone says they don't believe my Big Bird stories, I now have proof of the insanity.
After going home to the Hilton at 4:30 p.m., I began dealing with my old MacBook again. Still not working. I was only getting more frustrated as time went on. The external hard drive was fried. When I finally got the thing to turn on, I was given the option to wipe everything and start over. So, I did.
Around this time, I received a call from a woman in Brampton who was interested in buying my Witch Cave mattress. At least, I think she was. I couldn't tell through the broken English, but did my best to explain what was for sale – despite everything being listed in extreme detail online. I was also asked to text message her the same information. Okay. Fine. Just take this goddamn mattress off my hands.
Ten minutes later, I got a call from another buyer. This time, a man. Same thing. The guy didn't understand what I was selling, so I texted him the information as requested. When he called a second time, he wanted to meet me at my apartment in 25 minutes, and purchase the mattress for $30. I was selling it for $50, so he begrudgingly settled on $40. Oy. If only I knew then what I know now.
On the streetcar and sitting in traffic, I came to the jarring realization that I'd forgotten my Witch Cave keys at the hotel. Fuck! After the buyer berated me over the phone for making him wait, I finally arrived at the apartment. Once upstairs and inside the unit, the entire venture proved to be a complete waste of my time.
"Too small," the man grumbled, taking one look at the mattress before turning around and leaving.
Oh. My. God. I was so angry. I literally lost my breath trying to make this happen, only for the guy to blow me off with such a ridiculous response. As if the website listing didn't have all of the details, I gave him a clear description over the phone and via text. What the fuck? The audacity! There was a part of me that felt bad. I think the man knew he'd fucked up. Plus, his reasoning for needing a bigger bed was that he had to sleep his three small children side-by-side in a single room. Yeah, yeah. I know. Call me Scrooge. I just wasn't in the mood to have my time wasted like that.
