Might not make it to 500 this time. We will see.

Took the pill I have been using as my sleep aid, alprazolam, this morning after breakfast. And now I am all fucked up from bad sleep.

No honeymoon period where the sleep is cozy and nourishing and relaxing and nice this time. Nope. straight to the brain scrambling fever dream stage that makes me wish I had never touched the stupid fucking pill.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I had noticed my sleep periods getting shorter, and decided I would try nipping the problem in butt.

Yes, I know it’s “nip it in the bud”, but I’m horny.

Perhaps I should have waited longer. I really do not like feeling like this. I wish I should wash it all away with a brisk shower or a hot meal or by rinsing my brain under cold water in a sink for ten minutes.

Or maybe hard liquor. Nah, that would only make things worse.

It’s kind of fucked up to get punished by the universe for doing the smart thing. Sure, I will probably be better off in the long run from having breached the dam holding my sleep tide back, but right now it does not seem worth it.

I need to learn to sleep like a normal person. Eight hours a day. In a row.

It just seems like so much of a commitment. Like, what if I decide I would rather do something else in the middle of all that sleep? Now I’m stuck.

Kidding aside, time to let sleep kick my ass some more.

I will be back.

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Who are you and what are you doing in my bedroom?

Oh right. You’re my blogging audience. Sorry about that, I just woke up.

Slept a bunch more. Feel a lot better now. Lots more sleepy time in my immediate future, but at least I no longer feel like I am downing in it.

Knock on wood.

As predicted, I did not make it to 500 words earlier. I was too damned sleepy. Made it to 280, which ain’t bad, but that means i have 220 more words to write than usual tonight.

Whatever. Once I get started, I can write for a long time. Writing these millions of words over the last decade (started this blog in 2011) has built up my writing muscles to the point where writing is not that hard for me.

Especially this kind of writing. It’s mostly just jotting down my thoughts as they come to me, with a minimum of forethought or planning.

As you can plainly tell.

Writing fiction or a subject driven think piece is harder. Much harder. Then I have to keep a bunch of stuff in my head instead of just stringing thoughts together.

Wow, just thinking about putting that much effort into this makes me feel tired and overwhelmed. No wonder I do it so infrequently.

And now the usual cat’s chorus of shrieking viragos raises it rusty voice to scream at me about all the things I “should” do and therefore suck for not doing.

I “should” write more fiction. I “should” work harder to make my writing as good as I can instead of my usual “fire and forget” method. I “should” be beating the bushes looking for work as a writing. I “should” at least be posting to Vocal.

Yeah yeah. Learn a new song, you howling bitches. You’re not helping. You’re just giving me all the more reason to hide away from the loud clattering world.

Consider yourself put on mute. There is no “should”. All that matters is my own pleasure. If when all is said and done, I am having fun, then everything is A-OK.

I hereby declare amnesty from all compulsion. Whatever mental malfunction turns my desires into destructive pressures is hereby disable, uninstalled, and destroyed.

From now on, life is a game I play for my own amusement and to hell with whatever gets in the way of that.

I need to be supremely selfish for a while. Probably not to the point of becoming a total asshole, but I won’t rule it out.

To be honest, I would rather be a happy asshole than a miserable nice guy any day,

I have to reach deep and find my id and let it roam free for a while if I want to restore balance to my personality. Unleash that cocky, sarcastic, pushy asshole I have been suppressing deep inside me for so long.

I guess I always knew it would come to this. The only difference is that I am now willing to admit that this asshole I have been suppressing is just as much a part of me as the sweet guy I normally think of as myself, and that if he is such an extreme dickbag, it is because he contains all the pent up id I have never expressed and therefore is a symptom of my imbalance, just as much as my weak and wimpy side is.

All told, I have on hand the makings of one hell of a guy. Someone who is sweet and nice without being weak and impotent and pathetic. Someone who is strong and competent and dynamic without being callous and selfish and losing track of the deep compassion I treasure so much about myself.

The path to becoming that version of myself will be long and complicated and no doubt downright ugly at times. I admit that right here,

But I am finally ready to fight. To struggle to be born. To keep pounding away at the walls of my reality until they finally give way and let my tiny little world get bigger.

I will sacrifice peace in the name of happiness when it comes to that. I will stop running from my anxiety and face the music instead. I will leave all I think I know about myself behind in order to figure out who I really am.

I will wipe the slate clean, and draw myself anew.

And this time, I’ll use my true colors.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.