Do you ever feel cursed? I realize that I’m asking this after I ended my last journal entry with a sentimental rant about how blessed I am, but I honestly think I am cursed. I’ll get more into that later, though.

I woke up this morning from the strangest dream. I dreamt that the world was empty. It was just completely – empty. I was living on Earth, but it was like a blank slate. It was just me, alone in some strange white world where there was absolutely nothing around me. I have no idea what it meant, but it was lonely. Time felt everlasting. I had this sense that I could do whatever I wanted, but it wouldn’t matter because there was nothing to do anything with. I was the only person in the entire world.

After a lot of snoozes, I finally got out of bed – once again, with a horrible sore throat. My throat has been this way since I hooked up with Spencer. At the rate things seem to be going in my life, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a STD again. A part of me also thinks it could just be from complete exhaustion, though. I barely get six hours of sleep a night, and then I’ll go all day from 7 a.m. until 1 a.m. without any sort of rest in between.

On another note, I’m not noticing any difference from all the time I’ve been spending in the gym. It’s making me really angry. I weighed myself again this morning, and the pounds are all still there. I’m so fucking screwed. The worst part is that I can’t stop eating. I’m hungry all the time. From the minute I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, I think about food constantly. I steal food every 15 minutes at work, and shove it down my throat like a complete lunatic.

I got to The Clubhouse on time at 9 a.m., and saw Benjamin Russo waiting outside the building. Much to my surprise, Benjamin was with a girl I spent Pride with this year during my brief moment with Veronica and Riley. We reminisced quickly and shared a couple of laughs. I’d completely forgotten about her, to be honest.

Although the club only opens to members at 10 a.m., I told Benjamin and his friend to come upstairs with me. There wouldn’t be any service for another hour, but at least they could sit down. Why not? They’re my friends, and even at 9 a.m. it was hot as all hell outside. I wanted to help them out.

It’s true what they say. No good deed goes unpunished. It wasn’t even 9:05 a.m. before Stella marched up to the front desk and gave me a huge, long lecture about what I had done – as if I had just set fire to her childhood home. Stella was furious that I had let a member into the building before we opened. The whole thing was fucking ridiculous. It completely set me off. Add on the fact that it was boiling hot in the club all fucking day, and I was not in a good mood.

Today was absolutely horrible. Fortunately, I was relieved for a few hours in the afternoon and was able to escape to my office. Nonetheless, all of the staff were in an awful mood. It totally rubbed off on me. I want to quit.

Big Bird was a complete psychopath today. She had a massive amount of work to get through, which was fine because it kept her relatively quiet while I worked in our office, but her Looney Tunes dust cloud of craziness is not the environment I want to work in. Things were a thousand times more hectic at The Toronto Film Group, but we always managed to keep it light and entertaining while still getting the job done. The Clubhouse is a total nightmare. Working at the front desk is the most degrading job I have ever had, and that’s coming from someone who has worked at McDonald’s.

While I was in my office, Stefan – a guy (I think) I met online – was at The Clubhouse for a site visit. I knew this, because we had started texting through Snapchat the night of the Blue Jays game, and he told me that he would be at my work today. I had expected to see him while I was working the desk, but I wasn’t there at the time. Instead, I decided to purposely walk around the building as a busy body.

Like the Nancy Drew I am, I found Stefan. We hugged hello in front of his colleague, which I was not expecting. Heather – one of the ladies on the events team – was leading the tour. I had told Heather about Stefan beforehand so that she could give me a full rundown afterwards, and she had good things to say. Stefan was quite handsome in person. He also had a deep voice, which I definitely wasn’t expecting either. After that, Stefan and I texted throughout the day. Maybe a date will come eventually.

At 3 p.m., I returned to the front desk and stayed there until 6 p.m. It was the most horrible three hours I have spent at The Clubhouse thus far. Everything was just awful. I don’t even want to spend much time writing about it, because I feel like it’s a waste of my time and energy.

I’m angry. When I started this job – even though I didn’t really like it – I had made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t get caught up in work drama. I hate office politics. However, you can’t help it when your management team is absolutely bonkers. They are all insane! Their demands are ridiculous, they’re always in a bad mood, and they talk so much shit about all of their clients until the moment they turn around and pretend to love them to their faces. It’s horrible. The Clubhouse is such a fake environment, and that is not how I operate. That’s also probably why I don’t fit in, because I refuse to put on a facade.

When it comes to my customer service interactions, I am very genuine. Although I am respectful of everyone, if you are rude, you will not receive the same level of service that a polite person would. You’ll receive respectful service, but it will be quick and to the point. It was like that at The Store, too. I interact in my own way with people. Oftentimes, it doesn’t match up with what the management team wants. However, in reality, I think people respond better to someone who is genuinely nice to them – not just because they have to be.

Now, I’m at home writing about this crap at 1 a.m. That’s not what I want to be doing with my time. I don’t want to have to take this kind of work-related stress home with me.

I went to my office to gather my things at 6 p.m., completely miserable and with veins bulging out of my neck. Naturally, Big Bird wanted to squawk for 15 minutes. I told her I needed to leave, and then she asked me a ton of questions about my day. Big Bird wanted me to be honest about why it was such “a horrible day” at the desk, so I told her everything.

I’m thinking now that I was probably too honest with Big Bird. Whatever. At this point, I have nothing to lose. If The Clubhouse wants to fire me, go the fuck ahead. It would make leaving that much easier and faster. It’s not like I would be missing much. Fuck The Clubhouse. And fuck Stella – that two-faced motherfucking bitch from hell. Fall off the rooftop patio and land in a pile of dead fruit flies, you cunt.

Nothing relieves my stress like the power vocals of 90’s Mariah Carey, so I put on some very appropriate Emotions-era songs and walked home. I was so wound up from the day I had at work – including the sweating that hadn’t stopped since I got on the streetcar this morning – that I had to cancel my date with Mister Sheffield tonight.

I don’t want to drink again. Unfortunately, that seems to be what you do on dates. You don’t “go for drinks” with a guy and order a 7-UP on the rocks. I’ll reschedule. I actually wouldn’t mind meeting Mister Sheffield, but he’s not my priority right now. I need to start avoiding alcohol more actively.

While bending over to pick up a piece of paper behind the desk this morning, the ass seam on my uniform pants popped open. I stopped by Zara on my way home to see if they would take them back, but they wouldn’t. Instead, they are going to send them away to be mended for free. I urged them to take as much time as they needed.

“I’m not one for khaki,” I said. “I fucking hate these pants.”

After Zara, I continued my walk home and called Mom to vent about work. Mom also filled me in on some information she received from a friend of a friend who is a published author, and thinks that perhaps the lady could help me with tips on how to move forward with my writing projects. If only I had the fucking time to actually have writing projects. As it is, I have to stay up until 1:30 a.m. writing my daily journal entries just to stay on top of them. I want my writing to be as fresh as possible so that when I call someone a cunt, it’s coming from a really angry place and a specific moment in time. Fuck you, Stella!

Finally back at the Witch Cave, I made a popcorn bowl-sized portion of pasta and ate it in my bed. So, what do I mean by “cursed,” you ask? Well, while eating said bowl of pasta that could have fed the cast of a TLC series, I bit a fucking chunk out of my tongue. Not just a little nip. A full-on chunk. C-H-U-N-K. I heard a crunch. Five hours later, I am still tasting blood. What a fucking mess.

Am I being tested for something? I mean that in a spiritual sense. Although, not so ironically, I have a feeling I might need to be tested for a STD in the near future, too. But, seriously. Is there a greater power doing this to me, or am I just having a bout of bad luck? A fucked-up toe, a bad job, bloody knees, bloody face, smashed teeth, chunk missing from tongue, and the list goes on. I’m clearly focusing on the bad when I know there are many good things in my life to focus on, but come on. Something is really fucked up with me lately.

Soon after my pasta/tongue dinner, I passed out for 30 minutes. Even though it was pushing 9 p.m. when I woke up, I dragged my fat ass out of bed and schlepped to the gym. After my usual routine, I made my way back to the Witch Cave.

Now, I’m here in bed, writing this. During the day, I have so many thoughts about what I want to write about. Yet, after everything is said and done and I’m pounding away at my laptop’s keyboard, I’ve forgotten half of the stuff.

I feel confused. I don’t know if going off my anti-depressant was a great idea. At the same time, I feel like what happened over the weekend with my teeth was a huge set back in so many ways. I was already on the verge of falling back into my hole, and Friday night was very symbolic of me literally falling back into it – fucking up my face and most prized possession at the same time. I’m feeling better about my teeth, but that’s mainly because of the continued realization that I can’t change anything. My teeth will never grow back. I also don’t have a DeLorean, so I can’t change the past. It is what it is.

As I was on the floor of the gym doing my thing, I thought about how much I want to avoid drinking altogether. Like, I don’t want to drink. I feel so run down right now – both physically and emotionally. I don’t want to drink to cover all of that up. Alcohol might make things better for a night, but come the next morning, I feel even worse. I don’t know what to do. This is where I struggle. It’s just so expected by society that you eat and drink in social environments.

I have Dan’s birthday party tomorrow night, Natasha’s family party on Saturday, and there will no doubt be some sort of celebration on Sunday at The Store for my last shift. In other words: drinks, drinks, food, and more food. I’m fucking screwed. How can I attend these functions where I am expected to eat and drink, but successfully avoid it all with the issues that I have? That’s why when I try to avoid drinking, I shut down my social life. Anyway, I talked enough about that last night.

Next topic of discussion: RX.

I haven’t heard from RX since Tuesday, and that exchange – plus all of the ones prior – was initiated by me. I think perhaps it will be best to cool it for a while. I know I have a tendency to want things to happen very fast, but I need to slow down and let RX come to me. If RX is interested in maintaining any form of a relationship – romantic, or otherwise – he needs to make an effort, too. It can’t all be on me. I have also made it very clear that I have feelings for RX. Clearer than I ever thought I would be able to, and that’s mainly because I outright said that I have feelings for him. I also told RX that I loved him. Subtlety isn’t exactly my specialty.

You know what? I like it that way. I think a lack of subtlety works out better in the long run. Even at work. Sure, I may be a bit of a loose cannon at times, but at least I’m expressing how I feel. As I always say, you can’t expect someone or something to change if you sit there and grumble, grumble, grumble about it under your breath. That’s not how I operate. Although my mouth frequently lands me in a variety of awkward and tricky situations, I think it’s for the best.

At this point, I am on the verge of checking myself into rehab for exhaustion á la every female celebrity who has ever suffered a meltdown. Seriously. I’m thisclose to doing a striptease on TRL. I can’t even feel my throat right now. I better take some form of Advil. I don’t need things swelling up overnight and suffocating me.

Dan thinks he broke his toe tonight. Apparently, he dropped a metal gate on it after the Fifth Harmony concert. At least I’m not the only mess on the block.

Good luck, Kurt. Don’t fuck it up.

Goodnight xo