I’ve been 26-years-old for five months now. This year needs to end.
A little excitement in your daily life is good, right? I mean, I wasn’t exactly annoyed with the fact that my days used to be extremely uneventful. However, today was just too fucking much for me. I am longing for a day where nothing happens. No phone calls, no dinner plans, no ex-boyfriend texts, and no houses on fire. None of it. I want radio silence, and I want it now.
Where do we even begin with this fucking day?
For starters, I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I kept thinking about the Logan call. I just couldn’t let it go. I had convinced myself that acknowledging the butt dial wasn’t about me wanting to talk to Logan. On the contrary, it was about me wanting to fuck with his head. You know, make him sweat a bit. I’m sure Logan sweat enough when he heard his phone ringing, but I wanted to play a little game with him. I decided that I would message Logan in the morning, as though I had woken up to a missed call from him. To be fair, this would have been the case had I actually been asleep at the time.
Well, I followed through with my plan. By 10 a.m., it was all over.
Kurt: “You called?”
Logan: “Pocket dial, sorry about that. Hope you’re doing well.”
Kurt: “Thanks, same to you.”
And that was it.
It took Logan a while to respond to my initial message, but that was the end of our “conversation.” I thought about it after. Although I really have moved on from that situation, part of me – probably a bigger part than I am willing to admit to – still looks back on that relationship with a lot of sadness. I know that this whole thing today was some fucked up way of me trying to initiate a conversation again – hoping that maybe there was a sliver of compassion left in Logan, and that he hadn’t completely shut me out. That perhaps I wasn’t just a mistake in his life and, most recently, on his phone bill. Nevertheless, it’s clear that’s exactly what I am.
I think about what the end of my relationship with Logan represented. The feelings of depression, anxiety, and inadequacy that his ghosting sparked in my life. Going back to that time still hurts me. I know how much pain I was in every day. I truly believed that if Logan had given me a second chance, I could’ve proven that I was more than my insecurities. But, it was no use. Wishing and searching for that external validation was as futile as it was foolish. In the end, it just amounted to wasted time and emotions. Guys like Logan are never going to love me back.
Still, I falter. I want to be strong for myself. Prove that I can stand alone. Yet, there are recurring moments like these when I crumble and give in to my low self-esteem. I maintain the hope that someone might finally find value in me. But, here we are. Logan didn’t message me back. So, let’s pull up our big boy underwear, brush our fake teeth, slap on our witch ring, and move the fuck on.
“Moving on” today at work really just meant dicking around on the membership survey project – the layout of which I completed in about an hour. As I’ve said many times before, “Don’t work harder, work smarter.” When it comes to computers and technology, I move a lot faster than someone like Big Bird.
Around 4:30 p.m., I received a strange text message from Mom.
Mom: “Call me when you have a chance. I need to update you on something.”
As soon as I had a moment, I left my office and called Mom. It turned out that there was a pretty bad fire at Casa Z, which resulted in four fire trucks, paramedics, and police all arriving at the house. What the hell was going on?
Apparently, a fire broke out on basement’s electrical panel, which then crawled upwards and spread pretty far throughout all levels of the house. Fortunately, the base of the burn was miraculously put out by water that erupted from a nearby hose, which had melted down because of the heat. There wasn’t much fire damage, but apparently, the smoke damage and smell throughout the house is the worst of it all.
Obviously, I was relieved that Mom was alright. I’m sure it was a fairly traumatizing experience for her, having been alone in the house with Tabitha at the time. Dad and Phillip arrived about 15 minutes after it all happened. However, what is worrying me the most is the added stress – both emotional and financial – that this is going to put on my parents. The last thing Mom and Dad need right now is something like this to deal with.
Fuck. As if I didn’t feel guilty enough before. This isn’t even remotely my fault, yet somehow, I feel so guilty for still being on the payroll for things like my cell phone, or even having my parents purchase me a new laptop. Now, they’ve got over $10,000 worth of damage to the house – on top of all the other shit going on in their lives.
I feel so bad. I think a big part of that guilt is knowing that there isn’t a hell of a lot that I can do to help. I mean, what am I going to do? Seriously, though. I’ve barely got a penny to my name. Mom and Dad are racking up debt left and right with damages and repairs that keep coming out their asses.
After work, I went to the gym. I sent RX a stupid picture, which garnered a two-word response. Looks like we’re back to square one with that mess. Note to self: stop fucking doing this to yourself!
While I was on the treadmill, I started receiving frantic text messages from Dad and Phillip. Both of them were pleading with me to reason with Mom, who was supposedly adamant about not leaving Casa Z for the night – despite the firemen telling her that it wouldn’t be wise to sleep at the house. Not only because of the smell, but because there was no water or electricity. That would also mean that there would be no alarms to detect another fire. Not to mention the chemicals that I’m sure are in the air.
Apparently, Mom just would not leave the house. I mean, seriously? What the fuck is going on at Casa Z? Why is everyone so damn dramatic all the time? I sent Mom messages – only half of which she responded to – and even after that, it was still a struggle to convince her to leave.
By the end of the night, after everyone had taken a break and went to get something to eat, I guess Mom had agreed to leave the house and stay at a hotel with Tabitha. I mean, what kind of stubborn is that? As I said to Phillip, Jesus Lordt help us when Mom is older. We are so screwed. We’re not going to be able to get Mom to do anything. I can just see her as one of those seniors in Florida who refuses to leave their home when a mandatory hurricane evacuation is put into place. I also like how I was brought into the chaos, as if I am the voice of reason in the family. Today was all sorts of fucked up. Maybe they were all high from the melted plastic fumes floating through the house? I don’t know.
With all of the dramatics today, I thought about what I would grab in a fire. As millennial as it sounds, I would take my laptop. Not because I value my MacBook from a technological standpoint, but because it’s really got my entire life on it. Mainly pictures, I mean. I would also take my journals and Tabitha. Maybe I’ll have to do a walk through my room to see if there’s anything else. Right now, that’s all I can think of. I don’t really have too many tangible possessions that I would want to bring with me in a fire. Obviously, there are things I would mourn should they be singed, but I’m not exactly about to risk death for my stuffed 101 Dalmatians Pongo.
After the gym, I walked through the mall to do a few errands. Once back at the Witch Cave, I proceeded to gorge on chips and homemade pizza. Phillip ended up spending the night downtown at his house due to the fire, and dropped off some Zara packages at my apartment on his way home. I completely over-bought, as I wanted to try on everything at home. However, there are a number of items I love that I’ll likely have to send back, because I don’t have the funds. New pants, or California? The choice is mine.
I made dinner plans with Teresa Richards from The Toronto Film Group earlier today, as we’ve been meaning to get together for a while. The plan was to do something after work tomorrow, but when I dropped the bomb that I wouldn’t be drinking, it was like Teresa didn’t want to hang out anymore. I was hoping that since Teresa’s been sick, she might have been in the same boat. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.
Teresa: “Fuck that. Let’s reschedule.”
Knowing Teresa, it’s clear she was kidding with her comment. At least, on a certain level. I guess it hits close to home with me, though. I know that’s a general sentiment with a lot of my friends. As if I couldn’t possibly be fun while I’m sober. Well, guess what? I’m not changing anytime soon. Get used to it, assholes.
This is what I’ve been talking about all along. It just proves that my ridiculous behavior this past weekend with the water in the gin bottle was not without warrant. People treat you differently when you don’t drink. Short of losing friends over my sobriety, the only other option seems to be faking alcoholism.
I’m tired. I don’t want any more drama. Of course, now that I’ve said that, I’m sure there will be some.
Goodnight xo
I found this t-shirt while online shopping at work today.
I need it.
My packages at Casa Z, before Phillip brought them downtown. Whoopsie! Casa Z
My conversation with Mom this evening.
That was Mom’s one and only response. Oy.