Ambien is the only thing in the world who I know can be there for me. I know I have a lot of friends who love me, and would probably even bail me out of jail, but in my heart of hearts I have a hard time accepting that other people are truly capable of caring for others. I realize that this is a totally dark part of my personality, very likely developed from growing up in a family with generations of negativity and substance abuse; however, I think humans are only able to care for themselves. Sometimes I feel like I am the only person who ever has my back. I know I am worth what I am able to provide for myself. This is why I like medicine.
Ambien is my little buddy who tells me all day long that, at the end of the day, I can always get rest. No matter how hectic my day is, or how anxious I am from being stupidly-20-something, I know there is always Ambien at the end of the day. Like my dad's joint after work, or my grandma's "nerve pill" in the afternoon -- my generation has our own "little helper" to wipe away the day's troubles. I feel a tremendous amount of relief when I put on my pajamas, take an Ambien, and read the New York Times before I crash. In the morning I feel rested and totally ready to conquer my day.
I don't know how I'd stay sane without this promise at the end of the day.
And when you take the Ambien, the process to fall asleep is so sweet. The pill creeps on slowly: it grabs your ankles and wobbles you up a bit, tickles your privates, and fills your eyes with jell-o. One minute you're on the couch, laughing at some New Yorker cartoon you don't understand, and the next, you wake up, and you're ready to go!
Ambien sex--and let me say I don't do this often--makes you cum like no other. Every inhibition drains out through your toes, your dick throbs with molten steel, and you can pound ass (without getting chafed) for hours. Everybody you fuck looks pretty because you can't see details anyway. Your trick's ass cheeks slap together in living, breathing, waving unison with their undulating neck fat. For a moment you ask yourself "Am I being date raped?" and then you are unsure. Then you ask yourself "Am I date raping someone?" because you can't remember anything even that basic. All you know is your dick is hard, it's in an ass, and you were cognizant enough to wear a condom. You wake up, covered in cum stuck to curly red hairs (you're a brunette), and are relieved that whatever troll you brought home had the courtesy to leave in the middle of the night.
Most mornings aren't like this. I tend to wake up alone: happy I'm not next to an ugly man, but worthless because I'm not next to a Greek god. The sleep was good. Most nights (I swear) I go to bed alone. I'm happy and productive the next day. And there is always another Ambien waiting for me the next night.
Speaking of Greek Gods... I have to give a shout out to someone who has taken interest in this blog!
Hey David!
