I’m ducking Easter.

I’m fukcxing waster.

I’m fucking wasted. Yeah. That’s the one.

I worked a shipment shift at The Store from 7:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. this morning. Most of that time was spent bitching in a corner with Stephanie, but I still managed to finish all of my work on time. I drove home to Casa Z afterwards.

Dad and I have been arguing about job stuff lately. I don’t think he understands how difficult the application process is, or why it’s taking me so long to find work. When I got home after work today, Dad was just getting ready to leave for a meeting. He was nice to me during the five minutes that we talked.

I made something small to eat, applied to a few jobs, and then went into the gym. My feet have been hurting pretty bad lately, so I only did the floor portion of my normal workout routine. After that, I showered, packed the car, and left the house. My week at Casa Z has come to an end.

I said goodbye to Mom as I was loading up the car. The soft, sad tone of her voice never fails to send me rolling out of our driveway with an immense amount of guilt in tow. I always want to turn back and hug her again as I leave, but I don’t know if that would help anything.

I drove back to the Witch Cave. After unpacking almost all of my Casa Z stuff, I repacked a new bag for the park and left the apartment. Yesterday, Preston Mackenzie had me asked if I wanted to hang out with him at Trinity Bellwoods Park before his serving shift tonight. My schedule today worked out, so after weaseling my way on to the subway system, I took the streetcar across Queen Street West to meet him.

Preston was already at the park with a full set up. It was amazing. And really, really generous of him. Preston had brought everything from crackers, cheese, and meats to a pitcher of sangria. Not to mention, everything had been laid out perfectly. Including two crystal glasses for the sangria. All ridiculous and crazy, but absolutely expected of Preston Mackenzie.

We talked about a lot of stuff right from the get-go. Everything from body image issues, to exercise regimes, to little details of our daily lives.

Umm. First of all, I didn’t know that Preston was so into coke. As the afternoon went on, Preston told me more and more about how he has been severely addicted to cocaine over the past month, and how he’s now trying to kick the habit. Preston said that the last time he did coke was at my Mariah Carey party. Was everyone doing drugs that night except for me?

I tend to think that my issues are the be-all and end-all of issues. No. Wait. That’s not true. I think that they’re issues, but I don’t think that they’re the world’s end. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that when I heard about Preston’s issues, and then compared them to mine, it made my life seem like a Disney cartoon. Everything I’ve experienced is so wholesome compared to the shit that Preston has gone through.

All of this causes me to wonder – do we need to go through things like that to be interesting? Snorting cocaine with your bosses. Doing so much coke that you’re 140lbs at 6’3”. Having “coke breath” and dealing drugs to your friends. Is that what defines a struggle? It just makes my life seem so mundane.

This isn’t me negating my issues. Nor am I glamorizing drug abuse. However, the problems in my life all seem so trivial compared to what Preston told me today. I feel bad, because I know that he recently fell into a rough crowd. I want to help. I do. But, I also can’t relate to a lot of Preston’s life. I know he confided in me a lot today, which made me feel good. I think Preston’s “friends” would have judged him for what he told me in the park. Preston knows I’m not like that.

I drank a lot today. Alcohol, I mean. I had two bottles of sangria with Preston in the park. I also smoked the joint Preston offered me before he left. Then, instead of taking the streetcar home, I took the untouched bottle of white wine I had in my backpack and poured half of it into my S’well bottle. Yes, the replacement that Bryan bought me.

I walked all of Queen Street West, sipping wine the entire way. When I got to the Eaton Centre, I went into a public bathroom stall and poured the rest of the wine bottle contents into my S’well. I continued from there, stopping at the grocery store near the Witch Cave on my way. I drunkenly tried to steal a bag of whole wheat pizza dough and a kettle for Naomi, but I chickened out. I dropped my basked and walked out.

Back at the Witch Cave, I made a grilled cheese, made my bed, and talked to Greg from New York City on the phone. I also had a beer. Oh, and I also took down my entire Halloween makeup bag from the top shelf of my bathroom. From there, I tried to execute a full drag queen look, featuring my Mariah wig and false eyelashes. I looked like a train wreck. It put me in an even lower mood.

I’m so fucked up right now. I’m so drunk. I just want to cry. But, I don’t know how. I’m too drunk. Instead, I want to take a Panic Pill and pass out.

I hate Logan Hunter with every ounce of my being.

Fuck. I just started crying.

I hate Logan. I hate how he treated me. I hate how I made excuses for him and let him treat me the way he did, and I wish I could punch an even bigger fucking space between his gap-toothed smile.

Go fuck yourself, Logan. I was so nice to you. I was nothing but an absolute gentleman to you. I made your fucking bed. I cooked you dinner. I washed your dishes. I did everything right. And you treated me like shit. You just ignored me. You pretended I didn’t exist. I don’t think there’s anything crueler that you could have done. You’re a fucking asshole. If I ever see you again, I will tear you a new one. I will give you the verbal smack down of your life. I hate you. Do you hear me, you piece of shit motherfucker? I HATE YOU!

Last night, I fell asleep anxious as all hell, because I had been imagining myself egging Logan’s apartment windows and getting caught. It would have been so perfect, though. Logan’s building is crumbling, and he wouldn’t be able to go out on his balcony to clean it. It was a completely brilliant plan! So, enjoy the murky, yolky view for summer 2016, you inconsiderate, self-absorbed, trout mouth player-player. Seriously, I wish I could push you in front of a runaway train. I want to see you suffer.

I’m taking my Panic Pill and I’m not brushing my teeth.

Goodnight xo

Okay, fine. I’m brushing my teeth. I hope an American Airlines flight flies into Logan’s apartment.

Xoxo love and kisses,

Kurty

Goodnight xo