High. Completely exhausted. That about sums up my night. Yeah. It’s a fucking Tuesday. I bought weed. I shouldn’t have. Fuck. I think I’m hooked again. It’s that “fuck it” feeling, you know?
When I smoke weed, nothing else matters. I’m finally able to relax. It’s my golden moment to tune out so many of the issues that are always running through my mind. Now, that’s okay once in a while. However, I know I that have a problem because my smoking is not just “once in a while.” The more I blaze, the further I drift from my path of productivity and determination. Once again, I overate tonight. This late-night eating is screwing me.
Work was stupid today. I am losing my patience with Big Bird, to the point that I think I crossed a line with her today. After Big Bird had Emma and I each do the same job for her separately, I basically told her that she needs to be mindful of others’ time. Big Bird didn’t say anything, but I don’t think she liked my comment. I also don’t care anymore. Not that I’ve really cared for a while, but honestly, I wouldn’t mind if I was fired. Obviously, that’s not the ideal situation. I would rather leave on my own terms, and make some cash in the process. It would sure make things a lot easier, though!
I walked to the gym after work. While crunching my spine 1,000 times, I decided that I wanted weed tonight. Following a quick stop at the dispensary on my way home, I settled in and baked both myself and one of my precioused frozen pizzas. Food always tastes better when it’s free – not to mention when you’re stoned. Oh, I also made cookies. You know, because the 2,000 calories from the pizza simply weren’t enough. Once again, I am so fucking tired. I need to try and sleep.
Facebook really needs to fuck off with this “memories” bullshit. I do not need to see postings from people that I am not even friends with anymore! Why is RX stuff coming up on my feed when we are not Facebook friends? It’s like Mark Zuckerberg is testing me. Dude, you need to have a fucking seat. Every day, it’s something new. Well, I suppose it’s technically something old. Either way, I want to flip over my desk every time a “memory” pops up. I don’t need to see the “I love you” posts from five years ago, okay? It’s fucking rude.
Lately, I keep getting more and more insecure about my writing. I don’t know why, but those insecurities are pushing me to the point of changing my mind on future plans. I don’t want that to happen. I want to give writing a shot. If this is my only chance to do the whole “quit my job, move home, then move away” thing, I feel as though I should be seizing the opportunity.
Here’s the problem, though. What do I do about the Amphitheatre Entertainment people who I’m meeting with next week? What the hell happens if something develops with them? It’s always like this. Just when there is something a bit more secure and stable in my life – i.e., The Plan of not having a plan – something pops up and changes it.
I’m really just touching on random thoughts at this point. Things that have been on my mind lately.
The Casa Z fire situation is worse than expected. Mom and Dad have been living in a hotel with Tabitha this whole time. Now, it looks as though we will not even be in the house for Christmas. Yeah. We’ll all be completely moved into a hotel. December will be insane. I’ll be moving out of my apartment, then into a hotel downtown for my last week at work, followed by another random bed in New York City. Once I get back from my trip, I’ll be moving into my own hotel room near Casa Z with the rest of the family. It’s so crazy.
Isn’t the hotel thing almost comical in a way? Obviously, I know that it’s far from ideal. But, it’s also not the end of the world. Nobody died. Insurance is covering everything. Why not have some fun with it? Perhaps I just have to think that way now. The novelty might wear off pretty quick. It’ll be kind of fun to live in a hotel, though! We’ll call it The Suite Life of Kurty!
Goodnight xo
@yalittlenasty Instagram post from tonight.
“My Name Is Not Susan” - Whitney Houston