In the past few months. Maybe even the past year, I have been staying up overnight two or three nights consecutive. Maybe four occasionally. It’s partly a meth thing. I suppose mostly a meth thing but I do tend to sleep days better sometimes.

No, it’s mostly a meth thing. Once I get the idea in my head that I’m having a hard time falling asleep, that thought takes hold and I lay idle for a while. I think about things while some song sticks in my head. Tonight it was the Spice zhirls; if you wanna be my lover.

I had a rigorous music set around midnight with lots of stroking but only a dribble. That’s been happening more too. I enjoy the routine and the oily tits but I go on too long, varying sppeds and eventually tire myself out before the big event. Sometimes I can return for an encore, but the build up is enjoyable so I don’t feel the need to end with a bang anymore. 

Of course, atv241 now, the second I make the one itable decision, then I give myself permission to sustain the awareness of the rest of the night, by getting my lighter and glass out. That will most definitely allow me to compete for the prize again.

And likely again and again.

At this point it’s a given but I still go through the mental courtroom debate. First I’ll take the car to the bathroom with me. She loves that, and we talk about it as I walk down the hall. I swear she must think I understand her,vandvshe has the same vocal pattern of a human, raising the single syllable mer at the end to indicate a question. Mer? Yes I saym mer? Yes, down this hallway. She turns to make sure I’m not bluffing and going to other way,cwhich leads upstairs. I do that in the morning, but our language is slightly different for the three directional options from the bedroom. Stairs, washroom or fridge.  She’s most excited by the bathroom because I’m motionless for a while and she gets quality affection on her terms, moving between my legs and controlling left side or right side.

But I digress. The point is, my own anticipation is building now too. As I write this blog on my phone in the dark, my need to pee increases,  assuring I will get up shortly. Once I’m up, I won’t return to bed without a burn on the bong, and then the decision is made.

From there I decide between bed entertainment or work. But for now, the pee is requesting I stop writing.

 The mer starts instantly. She hears me rustle out of bed. 3am is fairly usual time,even when I have been sleeping well. 

My hair is itchy. I will be blogging more about it soon. I have to cut it down and trim the beard. It’s time. Its a record in several ways, mostly not good ways. It’s a mental block now. Breaking a pattern is always hard. Reverse ocd. I want to do it but it’s become a thing. Only impressive in my mind. A secret time line that hasn’t been broken, or in this case cut. My long hair is living in a clump inside the hat I have not been seen without in over two years. I feel, and occsionally look siek. My beanie hat buldges out on all sides likebim deformed, and the Rastafarian people would tell me to wash it. 

That’s a whole other mental illness story in itself. One thing meth does is make all your decisions seem right and taking the easy options comes with no guilt. I’m my case, it has allowed me to not make any decisions. I specializing in having the universe decide and then I just

Accept and adapt. Trying not to think about consequences is much easier on meth.

Speaking of which… 3:am imaginary chime in my head  back to the bedroom to begin the second half of my all nighter.

End of part 1