Be Consumed By The Burn. [Journal 7-21-17]

Barry White – Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Baby.

Though I abhor exercise, finding it idiotically inefficient, I do have a taste for exhaustion. Once Granny passed, and I moved-in with the Great Aunt and Uncle, I wasted a month or two looking for work, before realizing it was going no where. Keep in mind: I hadn’t worked for.. six years, then moved to a new state. And it was in the middle of the recession, in Oregon – they supposedly had the second-highest unemployment rate in the nation. And sitting around gaming and smoking for six years blesses one with a lovely pallor. So, I started volunteering.

At Habitat for Humanity, I built houses. At Salvation Army, I basically did allot of heavy-lifting and general labor. Habitat was the most physically demanding, as it was full construction, and I was the only real muscle around: all regular volunteers were over fifty years old, and most temporary volunteers were from tech companies and such – people who’d probably die if they ever did any real work. So I got every tough job.

At the end of a day at Habitat [eight hours], I would be in pain. Not “something broken” type pain, or a cut, or bruise, or whathaveyou; the pain that comes with overworking your body until all your muscles are screaming for rest. I wasn’t lethargic, as the pain increases my metabolism so-as-to knit muscle and sinew. But I did sleep like a log. Then, every morning, I was right as rain, pain-free after a few stretches, and ready to kick more ass.

Once I finally got paying work a year or so later, I was on a conservation corps, working eight-day weeks, with the days being a minimum of 10 hours of physical labor. Same thing there. Pain which consumes my conscious mind by the end of the day [so-as-to heal], then vigorous in the morning. Hell, I barely ever fapped on that job, given that I was so exhausted. Which is very telling, for under a normal workload, a week without extracting my chi leads to nocturnal emissions – this is the only reason I beat it like a fucking Bonobo.

Now, I’m in a similar situation, with a nasty exception. After a year of mostly doing nothing, then jumping straight into fulltime as a goddamned prep in a busy and poorly organized kitchen, I’m in pain. The exception: I’m not bouncing back as I used to. Perhaps due to increased age, the years of cigarettes, or the psychosomatic damage to my metabolism caused by the depression. Fuck if I know. All I know is that my upper-back is slaying me, and its not healing as quickly as I once did.

It’s not spine pain, it’s muscle and sinew pain – I think primarily sinew. It fucking hurts constantly. But on the plus side: endorphins. And the mind has a tendency to focus quite well, from the combinations of serious physical activity and constant pain. If only I didn’t have to worry about the destructive retards I’m living with. And the fucking moving I’ll have to do at the end of this work-week. This is the first day of that week, and I’m already hurting – as I was during my days off.

Another downside, as happened at the end of my last day off, when I’d finally had time to rest: I’m getting seriously horny. The type of horny that is unsatisfied by masturbation, wherein I need to slam ass until I collapse from muscle fatigue. My dick was so hard earlier, I literally worried about the damage I would do to a vagina. Fuck my life and everything in it. *narrows eyes* Literally.

In finally posting all the backlog of journal entries, I’ve noticed a reoccurring them: my horniness. About that, I have only one thing to say: send dirty panties.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on August 3, 2017.

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