Devoured

Life has got too full... and it has eaten all the things one likes to do. There is no time to chat to people, or go to the gym. Between His all consuming hobby which has bled across any free time one had, and fucked up shifts at work (that always happens at this time of year... yay Christmas) there is barely a skirret of time for one's self to think in, let alone do anything. It was so bad that last night one begged Him to go roleplaying alone. He said no.

Without the gym the depression is starting to come in waves... they roll across your psyche. All you want to do is sleep, but you can't. You wake up tired and it gets worse as the day goes on...

He wants pancakes stuffed with bacon (which has to be cooked) for breakfast, the cat is there working its own brand of intimidation, His mother wants a clock hung up, the shopping needs to be done, linen needs to be changed, the laundry needs to be redone thanks to His mothers insistence on planting lilies near the clothes line (forget about no wire hangers... it should be no flowers with stamens), the postie is honking his horn and one can't find anything to pull on, the dishes have soaked long enough and now need doing. All of it rubs and conspires to ensure there isn't five minutes alone, that isn't consumed with someone else's something.

Please stop the world... really need to get off

Of course we talked... and rejigged our time together to squeeze in some time for the gym.

And He ended up nailing one's arse to the bed... err not literally... to the point one begged him to please stop fucking it as the orgasm needed to end. It is a strange thing, but orgasms are like anything... even ice-cream. At some point you have to stop otherwise it starts to feel not so good, and ends up feeling bad if you persist.

The sex helps with the depression... for a while at least.

And tomorrow is another day...