Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 9 of 12)

September 1

Work was okay. I’m sort of fed up with it, though. Big Bird was on my nerves all day. What else is new, really? It also didn’t help that Big Bird kept me for an extra hour after my shift so that we could do my three-month review.

To be honest, I was kind of brutal during tonight’s meeting. I was already in a bad mood due to Big Bird’s bullshit earlier in the day, so my review essentially turned into me arguing with everything she had to say. Oh, well. Fuck it.

At one point, Big Bird asked me if I would’ve quit had The Clubhouse denied my time off request for Las Vegas. Without even the slightest pause, I said yes. A total deadpan delivery. I don’t think Big Bird liked that. Oh, well. Screw it. It is what it is. Honestly, I am ready to quit at any time.

Afterwards, I told Big Bird that it wasn’t fair of her to ask me that type of question. I wouldn’t say that I backtracked on my answer, but I definitely gave Big Bird reasons as to why, at this point in time, I would have quit. If The Clubhouse denied my request, what the fuck did I have to keep me there? Big Bird said that she wants more commitment from me, blah, blah, blah, and that she would still like me to cut my Vegas trip a day short so I can work the front desk on Monday morning. Girl, get over it. It’s not going to happen.

Big Bird and I talked a lot more about random things, but I stood my ground. Essentially, my three-month review was an hour of me listing all the things I’m unhappy with and want changed. Looking back on it, I may have been a bit of a brat. However, when you have nothing to lose, it’s easier to be a bit bolder with your demands. Despite Big Bird’s constant guilt trips about me going to Vegas, the review ended on a fairly promising note. Hopefully, the future will be a more positive experience for all parties involved.

After my review, I walked down Queen Street West to the new weed dispensary that Naomi’s company had opened last week. I signed myself up for a membership. In other words, I handed over my driver’s license, and filled out a form with mostly false information. As it now stands in Toronto, you can literally walk into a dispensary if you’re 19+ with an ID – a.k.a. everyone – and buy marijuana over the counter.

It’s almost surreal how different weed culture is now. When I was younger, you had to text five different people just to find a dealer, then you had to go to that dealer, and blah, blah, blah. It was a whole fucking production. I thought it was a miracle when I discovered Delivery Dave, but this dispensary thing is next level. If anything, it’s almost a bit scary. After so much smoking over the years, I’ve experienced the negative effects of marijuana first-hand. My anxiety has definitely increased since I started getting high. As such, it worries me that relaxed weed laws are going to turn us into a totally anxious society.

Anyway, I do have a point.

After the gym and a quick chat with Sebastian when I got home around 10:30 p.m., I smoked the weed I picked up. Now, I’m writing this naked in bed. I fucking love it. I’m also ready for Sebastian to get the fuck out of my apartment. I don’t know what the situation is regarding the tomfoolery that happened two nights ago, but Sebastian hasn’t said anything. I think we’re good.

All of that being said, Sebastian is such a good deterrent for late night eating – or just eating in general. That’s the silver lining in this situation. Mind you, I weighed myself this morning and have somehow managed to gain three pounds. Whatever.

Most of my day/night was spent on the computer, making an Instagram video and researching Halloween costume options. I’m officially going to be “Heartbreaker” Mariah Carey. It’s going to be a complete secret. Nobody is allowed to know! I say that now, but I’m sure I’ll blab about it as soon as I’m done writing this.

Ugh. I’m high, and thinking about Halloween now. I don’t know if I want to be so nude and showy again with my costume. It’s a little tiresome. I also don’t want to be clouded by my obsession with Mariah. In the early days of my fandom, I always used to say that Mariah didn’t have ensembles iconic enough for Halloween. I’ll have to ask around for opinions. Or maybe I’ll just do it and enjoy the inside joke. We’ll see.

I zoned into my computer all night. In fact, I sort of forgot Sebastian was here because I had my headphones in. Honestly, there’s nothing better than being high and listening to Mariah Carey sing eight layers of vocals on top of herself. It’s right up there with swimming while stoned.

Sebastian didn’t want to me to smoke in the apartment tonight. As in, my apartment. We compromised on the bathroom.

“I don’t want to fail a drug test for a new job,” Sebastian reasoned.

What the fuck is a drug test? Is that even a thing these days? Also, why would you ever want to work for someone who would drug test you?

Fuck. I’m so high. I don’t even remember what I’m writing about. I can’t even be asked to glance up the page and remind myself. My eyes hurt. But, I feel really content. That might be because I just turned on the A/C. We’ll see. This is great weed. Going to bed.

Goodnight xo