After I wrote my journal entry last night, I took a Panic Pill and passed out. This morning, I woke up feeling really good. Refreshed. It was a nice surprise, actually. I’m not sure if it was due to the meds, but I definitely had a solid sleep.
I also woke up to a message from Logan this morning. At 5:30 a.m., he had responded to the text that I sent him last night:
Logan: “Shoot”
So, I did. At 8 a.m., I asked Logan exactly what I said I was going to last night:
Kurt: “Did something happen recently or did I do anything since my visit that might have sparked a change in the way we communicate with one another?”
Having (somewhat) learned my lesson, I didn’t wait around for Logan’s response. I got myself together, went to the gym, and did my thing. At 10:43 a.m., my phone buzzed:
Logan: “Nothing specific happened but I realize I’ve withdrawn. I think that’s because I felt like I let you down a few weeks ago, and that I was continuing to do so. It’s hard to put into text, maybe I could call later?”
I responded right away. Maybe about a minute or so after I got his text. Let’s call it 10:45 a.m. to be safe.
Kurt: “Yeah, that would be nice. I’m working late tonight but if you’re up, I’ll be around”
Well, it’s now 11:38 p.m. as I’m writing this journal entry in bed. Thirteen fucking hours after I sent that message, and I still haven’t heard from Logan. No message, and definitely no phone call.
What does Logan even mean about letting me down a few weeks ago? When? I’ve lost track at this point, to be honest. I don’t know if Logan will ever actually call. It wouldn’t surprise me if he just disappeared altogether. But, it would certainly be interesting to hear what he has to say. Especially because now I know I haven’t just concocted this whole thing in my mind. That was a concern of mine for a while, actually. That I was so deep inside my own head that I had simply imagined all of Logan’s ghosting and disconnecting. No. I was right. This really is happening. I really am being fucked with here. On so many levels.
I called Natasha today. We talked for a while, catching up on a few different things. But, mostly we talked about Logan. I gave her a detailed update on what’s been happening. Natasha absolutely hates Logan. She knows that he’s treating me like shit. She constantly tells me that I don’t deserve to feel this way. That I am worth more than what Logan has been putting me through. And she’s right. I know she is. But, for some reason, I just can’t quit him. Why is this situation my very own Brokeback Mountain? I better not end up dead because of this. Or worse, in Wyoming.
After my session at the gym, I ran some errands around town. I mean, I quite literally ran. I was still wearing my Nikes. Eventually, I made it back to the Witch Cave, ate, did some MOMENTS event work, and then I was so tired I took a disco nap for 30-minutes.
I worked my DigiPrint gig from 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. this evening. I’m absolutely exhausted. And I can’t feel my feet. I’ve failed to mention this over the past four days, but the Toronto Fashion Week tent is essentially a large-scale freezer that I’m forced to stand in for eight-hours at time. We aren’t allowed to wear jackets either, as it’s not on brand. Whoever runs the tent must be really fucking cheap. The powers at be literally shut down all of the heaters in the main lobby space during the shows, and only heat the runway rooms. Typical Toronto – running everything on a shoestring budget.
I returned home to the Witch Cave around 11:30 p.m. After a quick post-work snack, I crawled into bed. I’m feeling shitty about the Logan thing. I can’t believe he would send me a message like that, but then never call. It hurts. But, I have so much else going on right now. I can’t afford to lose focus – or sleep – over Logan.
However, sometimes I do wonder if writing these journal entries has an adverse effect on my mental health? I mean, I won’t stop writing. I don’t think I could if I tried. I enjoy the process, and I like the idea of maintaining a continuous and cohesive collection of entries. But, detailing my daily life like this certainly causes me to analyze some events and thoughts more than I probably should. Like tonight, for example. Ugh. Who knows? Who cares?
I just took a Panic Pill while writing about Logan. On second thought, let’s change his name to “He Who Must Not Be Named.”
I’m fucking tired. I want a pizza bun.
“I still remember to the day
In fact is was a 3rd Monday
You came along to be the one for me
Now I’m alone
Sittin’ here by the phone
Call and say that you’re okay
So that I’ll have the chance
To beg you to stay
I want no one but you”
Goodnight xo
If Whitney Houston taught me anything, it was that you should always keep your receipts.
"I Get Lonely" - Janet Jackson