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

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December 5

December 5

Following a horrible sleep in my parents’ hotel room, I limped off the living room pull-out couch and tip-toed into an abusively lit – and very sterile – bathroom. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror and examined the dozens of bed spring bruises scattered across my naked body. Shit.

7 a.m. is far too early to be harassed by Mom, but obviously that’s not going to stop her. As soon as Mom hears the lightest of footsteps, she is literally out of bed like it’s Christmas morning and she’s a 10-year-old boy waiting for a BB gun. As usual, I felt bad about the attitude I gave her this morning. Damn it.

I slept at Mom and Dad’s hotel last night in Markham, as I had rescheduled my foot follow-up appointment with Dr. Europia for this morning. Everything was fine. Although, the waiting room was once again laughable. The receptionist was operating on a, “Who got here first?” basis. What a mess.

After a quick stop at the grocery store, Dad drove me back downtown for work. It was time to face the music. We dropped off some items at my apartment, and then Dad took me to The Clubhouse.

Side note: Dad has developed a worse sailor’s mouth than me.

I didn’t leave my office the entire day. There’s big part of me that feels extremely sketchy right now. Or, some other word. I haven’t pinpointed the emotion just yet. Either way, I’ve now got to keep up this resignation lie to everyone at work for two fucking weeks. Usually, my lies are confined to one or two people – not an entire company. This is also a massive lie. Probably the biggest one I have ever told. Why did it have to be a job in California with my Uncle Jack who works for Disney? I mean, come on! Fuck, man. The lie is so detailed, I often find myself shaking my head when I remember that it’s not real. I feel like a complete deludinoid. I wish I was kidding, but there are times when I legitimately believe my own lies.

Colin messaged me as I was leaving work today. We continued to chat throughout the night, even as I pounded it out pon de treadmill. After the gym, I walked home and stopped by the grocery store to precious a few things. Oy.

Back at the Witch Cave, I wasted no time in sparking up and eating everything I didn’t purchase. I am so screwed. I need to start working on my writing assignment for Amphitheatre’s blog. The piece is a factoid listicle for the upcoming The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring anniversary, and I completely wasted my evening. Tomorrow, it begins. I guess.

I found myself in a weird headspace while stoned tonight. It all started when I entered the awful relationship zone of my brain. I could both see and feel my mushy pink brain working – cogs in motion, throbbing, pulsating lights, etc. – and it was all because I was trying to find something wrong with Colin. We have had two fucking dates. Is this where my mind is already going? What could be wrong with Colin? What’s my “out” if I don’t want him? Jesus. Take a fucking chill pill. Or, don’t. Don’t take any drugs. They fuck you up. Or, do they actually make you smarter? Okay. Fine. Not smarter. Not at all. Come on. They do change the way you think about things, though. Is mind expansion such a bad thing? Sometimes, I think you need to look at life through a different lens to truly understand it.

All I know is that when I get stoned, I lose interest in a guy. I realized the pattern tonight. Guess who it all started with? Oh, right. We must not use his name. But, it’s true! It was that exact moment – when I started smoking pot regularly – that my mind shifted. My relationship sights went from full speed ahead, to me looking out the window and getting distracted by something shiny. That is, until I looked away for too long and crashed. Man, I’ve really latched on to that, “My life is a car crash,” metaphor, haven’t I?

I watched the majority of Mariah’s (ridiculously fake, but endearing at times) World, and got too high again.

Goodnight xo

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