i did finally figure out how to solve the problem i had

i couldn't figure out how to get past a story blocker.  i knew what i wanted to have happen, i just couldn't figure out how to make it happen and seem normal.  conveniently, i also really wanted to put in a reference, but felt it might be out of place.

turns out (b) solves problem (a) perfectly.

so now i just have to write it down.

--

i had a dream last night.  i was a cop (yeah, right), and we were called out to investigate this old factory in the middle of a farm.  or at least surrounded by crops.  there were all sorts of weird things at the factory, but nothing was illegal, so we had to leave.  the "weird things" were like metal train rails embedded in the floor, and a bunch of steel chairs and posts and things that could only move along the rails.  the two weirdest things were a huge cage and an area where a bunch of chairs had been arranged around a stage, which also had a cage welded onto the floor (all of this stuff was on the rails).  when we were leaving, we saw some people in the distance, but couldn't ask them questions because nothing illegal was happening.

so we left, and the cops/we decided to circle around and look through the fields.  i then got there (because dream) from a bar, and so i was kind of drunk, we start searching the fields, and find a bunch of dead bodies hidden, and start to investigate when we're attacked.  i get one of the guns out of the cop car trunk, but it doesn't work against a big scary guy who comes down the road.  i pass out, and when i wake up, i find that i'm naked and handcuffed in my cop car, but one of the guys from the factory is driving it.  i'm taken back to the factory, and put into one of the cages, which is too heavy for me to move.

there's a bit about the weird 7-11 place inside the factory, and i make fun of the guys because the dream logic is breaking down, and they don't like that, but like, one whole wall just doesn't exist now, and that's not the right way to run your illegal prison camp, i mean, seriously, are you people even good at anything?

and then i woke up.

--

today somebody else favorited my pettification story on hf, and when i looked at their profile, i saw that they charge people to write stories at like $1/100 words.  that made me look at how long my stories are, and i'm apparently dumb for giving away free porn.

oh well.

sanity is over rated

i should know.  i looked over the opposition, took my pills, and looked at what that brought me.

i'm not complaining about my sanity.  it's reassuring to not freak out about minor upsets.  it's good to not see a dead animal and need to take a day off to recuperate.  it's nice to go out in public and not feel so much like an absolute freak.

i mean, i still mumble things to myself, and count on my fingers in a way that can't be reassuring to other people.

but feeling like this.

with what i think is what people know as "normal" in my hands.

it's weird and difficult and challenging.

when you know no one else sees what you see, and know that what makes you panic might  not exist, it's easy to draw away and accept that you're in a fantasy realm.

but when you crash down to the real world, and have to deal with trash, and the leaves you tracked in on your shoes, and "laundry".

shit turns out to be real.



so, a check-in on things:

1. my favorite forum turns out to be moderated by racists, so i guess it's not my favorite anymore?
2. i feel like i should write more, but i've been getting home at like 8pm.  
1. not hating your work means you have less time for porn.
2. this feels like it should be a positive?
3. nice that the country understands useless insanity now.  would have even nicer 24 months ago, but i guess i have to live with the repercussions of anti-democratic fascist jurists being placed by corrupt fascists.
4. or, you know, walls and shakespeare and such. 
1. just a suggestion.

ambien analogy

imagine your body is like that inside out movie i didn't see.  but you have all these bits that work together to ensure you live your life right.

now, imagine ambien comes in, puts them all to sleep, but leaves their understudies to take over.

"i'm pretty sure we've got like 60% leg movement.  if you're sure you want a trip to the kitchen, go for it, but be prepared to grab on to keep steady."

"um, i think we're being poisoned with vodka, too.  can we just shut down balance entirely to prevent damage?"

"no, because if we do that, we lose "not throwing up," and this post-it note i just found indicates that this is a big deal for the day shift."

"fine, but i'm going to see if triggering a song to sing will keep the movements synchronized, since the only scheduler seems to be the one that sings."

"we have a stubbed toe!  repeat!  stubbed toe!  it should hurt like a motherfucker, but it's kind of just a dull ache.  initiate a massage mode to see if we can wake up the health team if it feels weird and broken."

"omg, and now the lights go out?  wtf?"


sorry, secondary conscious systems that have to run things when the main ones are incompacitated because they made a formal decision to end the day with a bunch of sleeping pills to shut things down.  i know they love you, too.

might have made a mistake

i have to do doctor tests this week, so i decided "let's stop drinking this week, and try to eat better and stuff.  you know, lie for the tests."  i don't know what the effectiveness is going to be, or even if it's worth bothering. but, that's the plan.

but it's kind of been something that organizes my going to sleep routine, even if thta's "ill-advised" or "a big giant warning sign" or something.  but it helps me get to sleep without all the demons in my brain clawing at me for hours.

"they have therapy now, sammy.  have you looked into it?"

yeah, yeah.  i know.  i think it'll just be the same surface level junk that i did last time.  they were a bit helpful, but since i'm posting this on the same blog i put up my stories that involve..."socially underexplored relationship paradigms" i'm kind of sure that should be something to bring up.  since hiding a whole giant part of my inner personality from someone trying to get to know me to see how they can help seems like it's counterproductive.

also: this post just got super hard to continue, because the zolpidem is obviously kicking in.  that's the sleeping pill i took the night i woke up to my freezer sitting wide open because drug-me wanted a popsicle.  i don't have popsicles today, so i'm hoping that keeps me safe.

other than freezer ruining, this drug kind of unclips bits of your brain in a way that's not normal.  it's like you're pretty sure everything is real, but things seem to work wrong.  sitting up.  walking.  putting words in the right order.  thoughts.

so in any case, if i post tomorrow that "my kitchen smells like dead garbage because i went looking for popsicles" again, then this didn't work as well as i was hoping.  my best case scenario: the slow slowing of my brain to sleep will work better this time.

so hey!  let's play with drugs that i legally have a prescription for, and see if I can get the kind of results they claim on the bottle!



and i opened up two stories this weekend, and procrastinated myself enough to not write anymore.  i did come up with brain dialogue, so hopefully i can smooth these junky bits so i can get it done.












ok, time to see how hard standing up is going to be this time..

hey.

um.

this is weird.

usually i get drunk, choose a point to fight over, do a big blog post about how like, squirrels are fucking people now.

and then wake up sober and make it all go away because that's pretty much nonsense.

and we don't even fucking have squirrels here.  are they really just like super fluffy tail cats?

so today i got all drunk like usual.

as-you-do.

and then forgot the point i was going to fight about.

like.  no clue.  squirrels are cute though.  fluffy tails and all that.

i have the beatles playing, so maybe that was the thing?  not as good as mr. david bowie?  they're pretty great, though, so this is a weak point.

so hey.  sammy here.  drunk up as i do.

without a point.

let's look at the news?

ok.  that's bad, that's good, that's also bad, that's cool, that's just kind of fucking horrible.

80 fucking percent.

christ.

"Laws in many states allow the police to arrest girls as young as 13 on prostitution charges, even when they are victims of sex trafficking."  omg.


dear prosecutors (i guess?),

what the absolute fuck?  "oh, congrats on getting raped a bunch!  your reward is going to jail!  you slut!"

diaf,
love,
sammy!


so, you know, if you're confused about how much i'm kind of going with the gay side of bi, read that last bit, and tell me how you feel.  seriously.  i was going to talk about the animal thing i saw today, but this is so much more fucking depressing, it makes a rhino potentially dying of gross infections due to humans ripping off a shitty horn seem like someone dropped a popsicle.


seriously.  i've read stories about cats playing with something for a bit, then killing it and eating it.  why is that so fucking less horrifying than what people do in like a day-to-day thing?

here comes the sun?

fuck you, the 60's.

good job fucking everything up in your adult-hood.  thanks for making me and my cohort so fucked up.


i can only forgive you so much for the chords used in "because".

and now you know how to turn me on.


ok.  time to drink enough that i don't care to update this post anymore.  just.

just think about things.  think about how much you might have helped, and didn't.

i'm doing the same, so don't get all upset.  i could have murdered old people, but instead i voted for the democrats.

TOTES KIDDING!

except the democrat thing.  i mean, i don't want to murder people in their sleep.

like the republicans.

#socialism_forever

to narrow things down

old people are awful.

i will one day be old, barring active actions to prevent that possibility on my part.

but one day, i'll probably be old (or dead).

but let's consider the old one, sammy, and hey, while we're at it, maybe stop being a jerk for once!

anyway,

old people.  why do they always like, fuck young children, and hate foreigners, and think gay people cause hurricanes?

seriously, if i could make hurricanes, you'd fucking know it.  i'd be just like, "oh, is it hurricane season?"

"no, sammy, it's christmas"

"OOPS, MOTHERFUCKING HURRICANE SHITTING IN YOUR FACE, JACKASSES@!"

really.  i'd be calling down the storms on all the fuckers.  but no, we're not magic witches with super powers.  that'd seriously be super cool.  i could write stories about that for years.

ok

breathe.


so hey, did you see me fucking panic my ass off on friday night?

no?  oh, that's because i sent that all to the place no one else can see.  here's how things worked.


i had a shitty week at work.

followed by a super shitty friday.

so i went home.


and remember how months ago i told you how i outsmarted my anxiety about having dinner by putting frozen dinners i liked in my freezer?

yeah.  i decided i didn't like any of those.

"get some pizza."

i didn't want pizza.



"sammy, i'm not getting what your point is here, so"

SHUT UP!

i always like pizza.  pizza is like my best friend who never tells me i'm a drunk.  pizza and vodka.  the three of us are super tight, yo.

so me sitting in my car, thinking about food, and pizza doesn't turn me on?  this is a fucking existential challenge.  who am i if i don't want pizza?

i love a tumblr about pizza and porn.  it's like someone kissed my tears away and in doing so, made my perfect happy land.

so i'm sitting there, hating the horrors of frozen food, and also not wanting pizza.  i drive mindlessly, eventually pulling into taco bell.

taco bell, "we're sorry you're here too, but at least we have some nacho cheese.  we hope that helps."

it did.  as much as tbell can do.  you're not magic, tacos.  and quesadillas.  and those quesadilla burrito things that look like so much work i can't imagine they're not full of spit.

so, hey.  that's how my friday went, and that's why you might have seen me writing tumblr posts about drunk driving to denny's on the other side of the island.

"don't drive drunk, sammy, that's how murder happens!"

duh.  i was angry because i was so drunk i couldn't go eat food that would totally give me super shitty runs.  i may hate myself (and a lot of other people), but i'm not going to put everyone in risk of me running them over.  i'm not a monster.

what was my other point?


honestly, there was a whole rant to put here about brown food.  not like "sammy, you're gross and like scat, stop being gross."  it was about how frozen/microwave food isn't brown.  you for-realsies cook food until it's brown, so it has that "brown flavor".  so you know it's good.  that's better than what i cobble together.

which makes me sad for the days when my brain was organized enough to actually sit down and cook for myself.  i did a bit on that last vacation.  it was good and brown, and i hate that i can't get my brain to work right so much of the time.

"sammy, you should get helpers!"

so, what i need is like a 1950's wife.  someone who lives at home while i go do work shit, and makes sure we don't get bugs (too late) or live in filth (too late) and makes sure i don't run out of clean clothes (it only counts if you get caught).  i think maybe i make enough to pay people to do those things?  how much does a fake wife cost?  do you have to pay more or less if you give them hugs?


what else is on the "you should talk to a therapist sooner than next month, sammy" list?

oh!  i wrote some more.  do you all remember "spa treatment"?  no?  you should look it up from a year ago when i totally stopped writing anything on it.  i put in a third of a half of a chapter, which means i need to stop masturbating to my own stories.  also, maybe lookup pipelining on gelbooru.  i'll do a link when it's closer.  but like, check out the concept to make sure you're on board before you start reading.

it's kind of hard when you write things and rub yourself raw, and then remember that most people would be disgusted by what you come up with.  i'm sorry, everyone.  i'm super sorry people who have said nice things about me.  i wish i was a better person than i am.


i kind of wish i had a taco right now.


i'm...sorry. :(

post

crazy crazy crazy.

hate my life.

more crazy, followed by additional crazy.

probably should stop drinking so so much.

different crazy, on a completely different topic.

sad realization about my life, and the haze i've lived it through.

tear-soaked comment about how sad i am about homeless people.  because seriously, the fact that we have homeless people today is a fucking atrocity, and if i could, i'd murder people with money to make that not the case.

um....random communist-bent diatribe in support of the homeless?


sorry.


a lot of sorries.

which isn't a word, apparently.


sorry.

just in case it isn't blindingly clear to everyone

1. i have severe mental illness.  i should be going to therapy, but i'm so overworked at work that i don't have the time to take off to go to see a therapist.
1. because therapists have to work normal hours too, because we're not so horrible to make them deal with crazy people when they should be with their families.
2. and no, i can't just take time off from work.  because i have to have money for food, duh.
2. i promise i'll go to therapy in the next six months.  i think i can schedule things out so that that all works.  i really hate where i'm at right now, and it's a bad place.
1. partially because there are really only two options at this point:
1. i kill myself in a probably messy manner, and ignore everything after that.
2. i keep drinking and eating badly until my heart just decides to stab my brain with fat cells.
3. i drink too much, because you can't just buy xanax at the store, but you can buy vodka, and for a short, fleeting moment, vodka can replicate the results of xanax, if you don't mind puking the next morning.
1. if you drink propel water in the morning, you get to taste the super sweet not-sugar they use when you puke it up.
1. it's kind of the best way to puke, if you're going to puke.
1. but you probably shouldn't puke if you can, because that's kind of gross.
1. and not a lot of fun to do, anyway.
2. "oh!  this puke tastes like fake grapes! Yummy!"
4. i do have more stories i'd like to tell.  i want to put them in order and send them out.  i can't.  see point 1 if you're confused why this is the case.
1. it's this whole thing of wanting to write, and then doing so, and then hating everything i've written, and then there's a battle of trying to rewrite the bad things, and write new not-bad things, and then just giving up and deleting everything except for the notes, and going back three weeks later.
2. over and over and over again.
3. do you want spoilers?
1. the next part is essential to the over-arching love story i bolted on after i wrote the first part.
2. but it's zero sex, and kind of feels super contrived at points
3. so i'm not sure people will like or care about it
4. so i have to make sure it works, right?
5. because if it doesn't, then no one will want to read the next-next part, which does have sex.
1. right?
2. checking....
3. ok, no, not actual sex, but that's totally got the kink going on, so maybe it's ok?
4. crap.  i hit backspace and fucked up the numbers.  how do i fix this?  return?
5. nope.
6. fuck
7. 
   
8. shit.
9. 
   
10. go backwards, you jerks!
11. pretend this is now 4.4.  
1. but why does this matter?  i don't really know any of you.  i'd be sad if Mr. Christopher or Mr. Veterinarian or Key (title unknown) didn't like it, but most of the other hundreds of people who show up in my "blog view count" thingy i don't know.
1. so maybe i shouldn't care? and just do my own thing?
2. but maybe you do care?  and you're just as concerned as me?
3. and don't forget the Jesse who comments, who's Jesse as in Jesse from Sammy's Blog.
4. Pikachu.
1. why are you talking about pokemon, sammy?
1. because sometimes i find pokemon pictures on tumblr and i forget that i'm old and gross and not like 12 again.
2. and because i edited this post, so for this point to be at all relevant, i have to add something else.
1. deal with it.
12. but getting to the point, if i'm writing for me, why does anyone else's opinion matter?  it shouldn't, because i really just want to say what makes me happy.  because if i can't be happy with my own thoughts, what's going to happen to me?
13. point 1.  point 4.1.
14. so
4. i want to write more stories.
5. i'm really sorry i'm so fucked up.  i wish i were better at pulling my brain together and dealing with things like everyone else.  i wish i didn't immediately see the worst things that could ever happen if i do what i think is best.
1. when you can only see horrors for all of your actions, it's hard to choose an action to take.
2. i'm sorry if you sent me a message, and i saw it while so super super drunk, and then i responded with absolute nonsense.  i've been better at not responding drunk recently, but this past week has been hard.
3. i wish i had a secret backup story i could pull out so people would be happy.
1. i don't.
2. sorry.
6. i know some people will say nice things in the comments.  that's great, but you don't really need to.  pretty much any comment is fine for me.  i know that "did you know that orangutans are threatened by habitat loss brought on by the deforestation caused by palm oil farming?" is functionally the same as "i don't hate you, sammy.  i know you'll get better and write cool stuff again."
1. but seriously, i'm so sad about the orangutans, but i can't call girl scouts "fucking monsters" because their cookies use palm oil.
1. especially when i'm buying like 9 boxes.
1. and because you shouldn't swear at little kids, because then it's all "you're the jerk" and you try to explain about the orangutans, but no one really wants to listen, and seriously, this is probably a bit advanced for even the parents you're shouting at.
1. so.
1. :(
2. and thanks.  i'm trying my best, and i know i'm failing right now, but maybe next week, next month, next year, i'll sort shit out, and get into a better place, and we can all just perv out together.
1. that'd probably be weird.
2. we could just all apologize a bit, and then go have pizza or something.
1. or, you know.  pizza.
1. mandatory pizza.
1. for everyone.
1. everywhere.
1. PIZZA
2. now i kind of want pizza.

• numbered
• or bulleted lists
• are kind of
• cool
• useful
• fun to write.
• sorry.
• :(

i am so glad i found some xanax from last time i had a prescription.

my heart no longer feels like it's going to shoot out of me, and my brain is delightfully less concerned with everything.

i hate having panic attacks all the time.

:(

seven left.  i need to go talk to a doctor soon.

so i figure, let's try to work out this insomnia some more

i have a pile of ambien from when i was prescribed it.  so i figured i'd take one, get the sleepies, and coast off to a smooth early night in bed.

i took it at 9:30.  it's now 2am.  the sleepies have won, and they've brought reinforcements back with them from the land of sleepitude.  certain things on my computer screen are now randomly 3d.  like.  not computer game three day.  they pop out towards me on the screen.

i'm super wobbly when i move.  it's like all the rest of my body got the "ok, go to sleepytown" message, and they sent that to the "filter your sensations through this set of limits of reality" part of my brain.  i'm guessing, though, that "actual living perception of the self" doesn't check the mail very often, and so now me, and it (also me) have to kind of puppet this me along physically and mentally, and it so feels like we have to poke awake everyone to get things done.  "hey.  legs.  we're going to pee, get up and get us over to the toilet."  "gah...FINE"

"hey.  bladder.  we're peeing because you're all 'gots some pee down here!' get on with it"  "whatever, we'd probably be fine."  "yeah.  let's give it a go anyway, right?"

"hey, what if my hair dryer is actually watching me, and is silently laughing about how I nearly tripped on the bathmat."

i just wanted to get to sleep earlier so i could wake up earlier tomorrow and not spend my day in a haze of tired.  instead, i get to fight through the lamest fake horror dream my brain can come up with.

huh. that was weird

The Tales of Gnosis College.

i found an image on motherless, i looked for the author/artist names on google, and found that.  i was not expecting porn on internet archive.  i guess the guy put it there?

i'm not even going to try to explain what's going on.  it's not really "good," but it's definitely "interesting."

read volume 2 if you want a quick look.  it's really the most porn-y of them all, with a minimum of the weird crazy backstory stuff that doesn't really work for me.  and definitely stick through it to chapter 5 towards the end for the story that made me read the other parts that come after (they're not as good).

i'm going to tag things i saw, and you'll just have to accept that i don't have tags for all the weird stuff.

this should have been a full post

so i guess literotica published this one, and my first comment was:

'Pointless drivel. The reader was tortured more than the "pet"'

i really hope literotica keeps that one. i want everyone to be able to read that, and see what kind of jerk this "anonymous" is. i mean, what kind of name is that, anyway?

really, i wish i knew who that was so i could fuck with them. send them pictures of my arm bleeding all over. "i did this because i know what a joke the universe is. do you think your anger at me makes any difference in the cosmic nothingness we'll all return to?"

today was a good day, because i'm totally sick, and that means i can stay home from work tomorrow and watch tv in my pjs on the couch. and eat pizza. i am as close to invincible tonight as can exist in this world.

also, i've taken a powerful narcotic anti-cough medicine. i may also be invincible because i'm Isis, mother of Horus.

that's...you type it out, and it suddenly seems less likely. so, probably just the drugs now.

this should have been a full post.

hey, whoa? i'm not coughing anymore!

cool!