Sometimes I really wish drugs made me feel good. And by that I mean street drugs. They don’t, so I don’t take them, but I have always been jealous of people who can get toasted on pot, or whatever, and shut off their brains.
I once did three vodka shots in two minutes, and just got a really bad stomachache. I mean, I was kinda uncoordinated for an hour, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to drive anywhere (I was home already), but my brain just laughed.
People who do coke are certifiable. Who wants to be more awake?
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Published by Chava Freya
Insomnia is a brain-based disorder I’ve had since I was at least 16 years old. Anti-anxiety medicine doesn’t help, except when there’s external anxiety exacerbating the problem. Sleep hygiene is irrelevant, because it’s not the problem, although I have submitted to it five different times, including having sleep specialists actually come to my home and advise me on rearranging furniture, buying special pillows, forbidding TVs in the bedroom, telling me the bed was for nothing but sleep, sex and reading, and when that didn’t work, then nothing but sleep. Period. That was the biggest failure of all.
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The Little Hours 