Getting up at 4am still has me feeling jetlagged in a way. The new schedule give me 3 days off in a row. I spend much of those days walking, like my olden days of yore. I looked forward to the walk. “Today I Walk” was a title of something I tried to write or assemble. The subways are a slightly different world before 6am.

TH woman I dated last year has been trying to call me again. Maybe it’s buttdialing but I doubt it. The calls come around the same time of day, when she would typically be a little sauceed. She doesn’t drink hard and barely ever touches the hard stuff but she deinks enough to influence her behavior, and to stoke her anger if that happens to be where she’s going.

I don’t answer because I don’t hear a ring. I blocked the number, unaware that I’d still be able to see that she tried to call, and that she could still leave voicemails. TO me that is not what would be called blocking a call but taht’s what they give us. She has not left a voicemail in a few months. I think the calls fall into the passive aggressive category of being made with the hope that I do not answer but know that she tried to call. Smoke signals, of sorts.

I wouldn’t hate talking to her again. We mostly ran out of gas on account of lifestyle difference. I was working full time, she was not working at all, and my split shift schedule made things ever more difficult. Our places of residence are quite far apart, over an hour by train each way. If we soke today we would certainly share a laugh over my Morning Mas anecdote. I watched a blowjob/facial where the dude squirted all across her forhead and into her hair, then let the follow-up flow into her mouth. It was surprisingly hot, I thought, given the overly-arty mood of the set. I tend to favor amateur/no-budget porn but this was professional, and for once it didn’t annoy me.

Where we would get a laugh out of all this is that I’m a squirter, too, and I came all over the place, uncertain in the moment but strongly suspecting that my jizz went off in a wayward direction and laded on my cell phone screen. I couldn’t tell in the moment without glasses and it being semi-dark when I shower. But just moments ago I drew my face close to this cell phone screen to read some small text and there it was, two shots of jizz stained on the screen. She would have loved this story, and loved seeing the stains. We both have very dirty minds and are completely limber for all talk sex. I don’t know about her but that aspect was a bit of a relief for me, after being with women who were hungry as hell for fucking and sucking but not so big on talking about it, or talking dirty, even. She also liked to watch me masturbate, which was fun. We have siilar perspectives on the act. I find it wholesome and healthy. She is mostly in that camp but still finds it a little dirty and selfishly unkind, in a way. If she can’t be the one to make me cum she’s not as happy. But then she was never happy about anything, at least not for long. Our time together was tumultuous but I know there were moments in which I made her truly happy.

I took the smallest does of Lorazapam I’ve taken in a long time today. I don’t think it will make a difference. I think the stuff has become placebo for me. THere happened to be a piece in the Times yesterday about a TV series where one of the characters is constably popping Lorazapam pills. I have not seen it but the article focused mostly on judgy perspectives about how these benzos are addictive to some people, and that sudden withdrawal can be fatal. This appears to hold up to scrutiny but it’s not fair to cast all used of this drug as addicts. I’ve quit taking it to no side effects whatsoever. I’ve also quit drinking for long periods with no side effects to speak of.

I gotta go. It’s 7am.