It's creeping up on 2 am as I write this. It's been a while since I've been up this late . . . and sober. When I don't have at least a nightcap, I get insomnia. I'm not even tired right now. I don't like that. I think I'm at my happiest when I'm sleeping. But I'm going to write this and try to force myself to close my eyes and stop thinking racing thoughts.
I have a drug test tomorrow. I know I'll pass it, but I'd prefer if massive amounts of booze doesn't show up on it. It's out of my system, I'm sure, but I want to be 100% positive. Don't worry, I'm not getting the shakes or the DT's. I tell people that, and they're kinda shocked. Maybe I just don't drink as much as they assume I do. OK, yeah, maybe sometimes I do, but I've known people who could put down an entire handle of alcohol in one sitting. People who can't get out of bed unless they have a drink. Stuff like that's crazy. When you reach that point you might want to think about other options.
I quit caffeine a while ago. The withdrawals from that were fucking horrible. I don't feel anything like it when I go a stretch of time without drinking whiskey. Caffeine is a real bitch, though. Everyone drinks it, so you don't get a lot of sympathy when you're feeling sick and achy. I've had a few caffeine drinks lately, and dear God I've missed it, but I'm not going into withdrawals from stopping it. Yet.
Holy hell. Being up this late and sober? I'm not sure I like this odd feeling. I guess I'll get used to it when I do it more often as I start my new job. I'll be working 11:30 am to 8 pm, so my inner clock is going to be kind of crazy for a while. You'll be getting your dose of GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS very late into the night, indeed. Hell, most of you will probably forget about it since it'll come out when you're all asleep. How many of you are reading this now?
I just opened my head and poured out its contents onto the keyboard. This is what my brain will be doing for the next hour or so before it finally gives up and lets me get some sleep. Imagine those annoying questions coming at you for hours . . . from yourself . . . and there's nothing you can do about it.
Goodnight, fuckers.
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