Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 7 of 12)

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July 29

July 29

One of the main reasons – there are infinite – as to why I like working in my office at The Clubhouse more than at the front desk, is that there’s less pressure on me to get to work for 9 a.m. sharp. Who the fuck invented that hour, anyway? If there’s going to be a hard start time for the workday, it sure as hell shouldn’t be 9 a.m. That’s barbaric. When I work in my office, I’m allowed to start whenever I want. That’s how it should be. I’ll stay my eight hours and get all my work done, but why should I have to disrupt my sleep cycle? Why does nobody care about my fucking sleep cycle!

All of that being said, there was no way I was staying at work past 5 p.m. today. I showered, tossed my lettuce lunch, and left the Witch Cave relatively early this morning. You see, when it benefits me, I don’t care. It’s just like when I get home from a long day of meaningless tasks at The Clubhouse, only to dump out my backpack full of hoarded toilet paper, tissues, paper towels, and pastries wrapped in napkins. It’s my fucking benefits plan, man. If I’m not going to get a free massage or have my dental bills covered, you best believe that I will make up for it somewhere else.

As soon as I got to work, Big Bird started with her squawking. I may bitch about her a lot, but I actually don’t mind Big Bird. She has her quirks – as do I – yet, sometimes there are moments when she’s really cool, calm, and can tell a good story. There are many worse office-mates and bosses to be had. Unfortunately, those cool, calm moments are often lost in the non-stop flow of other regurgitation that comes from her beak.

“No, Big Bird. I don’t want a plum.”

“Yes, Big Bird. The rotting lemons in your drawer are why we have fruit flies in our office.”

“Your dad made you pull piglets out of a mother pig’s vagina because you had the smallest hands as a kid? Great. Really good for me to know. I’m going to log that away for future reference. Thank you.”

Anyway, today was a good one. It was the Friday of a long weekend, so not many people were in the office. We just listened to a ton of 80’s music – Big Bird had a comment to make on every song – and I had a lot of work to do, which made the day move slightly faster. Big Bird also had a lot of tours to give to prospective members, so I was alone in our office for large chunks of time. Sweet! Better still, Big Bird left early to take the train to her parents’ farm. Works for me! I spent the last hour of my workday on my phone, sneaking around the building eating food. I’m like the fucking rat of The Clubhouse. Actually, that’s less funny when you consider the fact that we really do have mice in our offices.

In total 2007 Britney Spears status, I walked home after work with an iced coffee in hand. When I arrived at the Witch Cave, I noticed a message from Grumpy on my phone. But, it was only Friday! Grumpy always messages me on Saturday mornings. It’s our tradition. Yet another person who was fucking with my schedule!

After waiting a couple of hours for me to settle in at home after work, Grumpy messaged me again. We ended up having FaceTime sex. Is that a thing? Well, it is now. I was fully clothed, but Grumpy likes it when I watch him do his thing. Tonight, that meant climaxing all over himself.

As usual, Grumpy hung up right after he finished. I won’t hear from him again until next weekend. I was pretty turned on by our session, though. I got my own rocks off afterwards, and then went to bed. I should have just stayed awake and actually did the chores on my list, but sleep always seems to take top priority in my life.

I had my nap, cleaned my apartment, washed the 2,500 dishes in the sink – note to self: move and get a dishwasher – worked out, and then took the subway up north. Because I had finished my chores – yes, that is what I call them – I decided that it was okay to spark up before I took the train to Casa Z.

I love being stoned on public transit. I also love being stoned in a pool. It just makes life more interesting. But, perhaps that’s part of the problem. Is my life so boring that I need mind-altering substances to liven things up? Honestly, at times it is. I know that, “people who are bored are boring,” but there isn’t a whole lot for me to do in the sticks.

I thought about reaching out to Adam Daniels to see if he wanted to do something in town this weekend, but I decided not to. Lauryn also flat out asked if she could come to Casa Z with me, and I said no. Sometimes, I just want time to myself. I don’t want to be “on.” I want to swim in my Speedo, not wash my hair or shave my face, and be in ugly clothes and watch movies from my ass groove pon de couch. Note to self: don’t complain about being lonely.

A part of my reasoning for being alone this weekend was because I have now officially stopped taking my anti-depressant medication. As a result, I didn’t want to feel pressured to drink or be super social this weekend. I just want to relax and sleep. Sleep is the biggest one. I fucking hate waking up early. My body doesn’t want to go to bed at a reasonable hour. All of my best ideas come after sunset.

Mom and Dad picked me up at the subway station, and we drove to Casa Z together. Being slightly stoned – and deaf, as I listened to Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814 album at full volume for the entire train ride – I was more talkative with my parents than usual.

I love sitting in the back seat of cars. Mainly because it’s a much-needed break from the driver’s seat, but also because it makes me feel like a kid. I was watching Mom and Dad joke around with one another like complete idiots as we drove to the house. They were like a couple of 20-something-year-olds, messing around with each other and giggling. It made me smile. I’d so much rather their silliness than another one of their arguments. It also gives me faith in the idea that a relationship doesn’t have to be 100% happy all the time. Things can get better. A connection can be improved, or mended should it break. It takes work, but if you really love one another, you can make that love last.

I still have flashbacks to when I found those emails on Mom’s computer in 2011. That was a moment which will stick with me for the rest of my life. On my second and final date with PW, I had alluded to keeping some memories from Phillip as a way to protect him. PW said that his sister did the same to him. Maybe it’s an older sibling thing. I would never want Phillip to experience the trauma that those emails brought to me, or know what it’s like to have your mother console you on your bathroom floor, both of you in tears. I’ll never forget that. Yet, when I see Mom and Dad laughing together in the car five years later, it gives me hope. If you truly want them to, things can get better.

Once at Casa Z, I found Tabitha immediately. We made out for a bit, and then I loaded up on snacks, went to my room, and unpacked my things. After some bong hits, I watched an episode of Chelsea and went right to bed.

Our neighbor’s weed doesn’t get me stoned anymore. Well, it does. For about 15 minutes, and then there’s a residual hungry haze that floats over me for an indefinite amount of time. I want the good stuff. I want to be really zoned out. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have dispensary-grade weed, though. As much as I don’t get things done now, imagine what my productivity would be like with real ganja. I might as well just file for bankruptcy right now.

I’m very excited to completely relax and recharge this weekend. I want 16 hours of sleep each night. I also want to try and keep my body cute, though. I say that as I look at an empty bowl on my nightstand, which was overflowing with chips and chocolate covered almonds about 30 minutes ago. However, I’ve gained a lot of weight in my stomach and it’s showing. I can’t suck it in like I used to. We have a serious problem on our hips. I have a legitimate muffin top.

Bed.

Goodnight xo

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