THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 18 "The Quarrel"

Im depressed. Woooo. Like that's a shocker. -- Cute, he’s into english, has a job -- Elderly gay men, that's who occupies the story today. Which is good, they dont receive that much representation, unless as a joke. -- Break my habits and I die. Break my habits and I die. Break m- -- Looks like a guy in some music video I was subjected to a while back. Also about gay men, Lots o' gay today. -- Depression's sticky, like malleable candy full of filling. -- and a listenable voice, sweet, like candy, with a timbre of sfumato, dark, charred but with out the grit, more like black burnt pages that crumble slightly at the faintest touch. I think Im in love. -- Break my habits, Break my habits, People have major alterations, changes you cant come back from, and they move on, cope. My daily schedule is fucked for a week, the days on the clander slip out of the grid, minute problems arise and I lose my fucking shit. Break my habits and I die. Break break break br- -- Im fucked, Im gone, I cant eve cry, everything's crushing down, I can feel it in my chest -- The two gay men, the partners, in the story are falling away a bit, or rather their relationship is getting a little stale. At fifty and fifty-five, respectively, that's not too outlandish. They're almost robbed -- And a nice ass, not the greatest but a pretty nice one. I'd love to -- And then go to the police, they describe the attacker quiet differently, and then -- get a tongue in between those cheeks. For the rest of class I disrobed him, pinched a nipple, heard him moan, red his ass with slaps whips paddles, topping it all off with an ass-eating worthy of legend. I wonder what his screams sound like. -- get in a fight about it. Actually, not a fight, a quarrel, about it. It's a bit venomous, then calms as days years go by. They never speak of it. -- After safely tucking the cute english guy's image into my fantasy zone, and after class ends and we students gtfo, I discover I feel better. Thinking about sex made my depression lesson. Am I that sex obsessed? I've heard/read so much about depression killing the libido and now my libido cures my depression, or atleast lessened it or fought it off. What the fuck. Ugh. I cry into a novel and feel even better. Maybe fantasy is what cures, not sex itself. I've busted a load in whomever when riddled with black dog and felt worse afterwards, whether from shame or guilt Im not sure. It seems more that anything you might have built up inside to combat that day's hour's night's hazey fog of dread and it shoots out of you when orgasm hits. Like reverse orgone. Anyway, I, just....huh. Whatever. -- Break break break, break my habits break my habits, -- Anyways. -- Break break break -- he was still really cute. -- and I die.