theoryofmind
My ultra-personal inner monologue

High on life

I’m only writing this because I’m forcing myself to write something every day.

I’m a bit tipsy, and have trouble focusing on the keyboard or monitor. The Cobra and I had some red wine and beer tonight, which contributed considerably to my inebriation. As I don’t normally drink beer, having two and tryin gto get drunk does quite a lot for me. As per usual I can sober up at any time, but I quit enjoy the feeling of letting go. It allows me to let go of inhibitions, and that helps.

How does it help? Well, it contributed to some of the best sex I’ve ever had. Granted, it doesn’t say much as I felt the same way about two weeks ago, but with me everything has to be Hollywood-perfect every time. Tonight was fucking amazing.

We had multiple simultaneous orgasms at least once, perhaps twice. Perhaps she faked it, but it was good enough for me as I believed it. Although, if she faked it it’s only her own problem – I thought it was fucking amazing.

Perhaps that one of my major flaws. I’m not a ‘perfectionist’ in the same ehausted way as everyone else claims to be in every job interview. I’m obsessively competitive. I have to win and be the best in everything. I’m only second-best in things that I don’t believe to be important.

True, I want everyone I know and meet to love me and adore me. I also want to be the best at everything I believe important. I’ll work hard at what I want to be good in, and ignore the things I believe to be ephemeral.

A this moment I have problems selling ‘problems’ and it’s only Firefox’s built in spell checker that is saving my editorial soul. Perhaps it’s now time to go to bed? But not before I spend some quality time with my princesses and look after them.

It was a lovely day, just lazing around with all my girls and relaxing. I still feel extremely guilty when I am overly strict with any one of them, but the legacy of guilt is a topic for more sober discussion. Or perhaps precisely for a time when I’m more intoxicated.

Now bed.

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