My couch and cold sweat. If I'm not on the goddamn phone, I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Drenched enough so that I'd have to change into dry clothes. I have these mundane, tedious, but dreadful dreams about work. Like I'm constantly being grabbed by the head with these huge ass grubby hands pushing me down. I sweat more than my best 3mile run. I sweat more than my best cum. If I'm not on the goddamn phone to sleep, this is how I sleep.
I feel weaker now than I did before. Lazier. More lethargic. Listless. I hate missing my previous job for how easy it was. I hate how mentally grueling this new one is. I can't even describe what makes it so unbearable. I just know I can't keep still.
My father hates me for being drunk all the time. My mother hates me for being drunk and for being gay. Didn't anticipate just how homophobic she is until she found out. It's stormy in this house, and for the first time, I'm sincerely considering getting the hell out of here.
I somehow always expect things to make sense the longer I live this life. But it just keeps getting more confusing, less satisfying, and a fuck load more tiring. And annoying. I couldn't forget annoying.
I must admit though, there are the few things that clasp me by my hand and shake me awake.
