When there's no where els to run

I'm feeling worn out, like someone punched me right between the eyes and now I can't really see straight.
It resembles the feeling I get from mixing plum wine with Propavan but I haven't, not since I got here at least. I feel old, like a houndred year old woman trapped in the body of a teenager. Maybe I need to sleep when the dark falls and be awake when normal people are, but I have such a hard time sleeping that I can't plan it. My body decides for me, when it wants to sleep it does but when I want to it objects. Forces me to be up, making my legs restless and my body aches from being so damn tired but still so bloody energetic.

I gathered some pillows and climbed up to the attic with gin on the rocks and a cigarette between my lips so that I won't chew on them like I always do although my mother used to spend hours everyday telling me what an awful habit it is. I can't seem to stop.

I'll read Le chien couchant until my eyes can't take it anymore, until they finaly let me drift of into a haze of smokey dreams and lips with drops of wine still left on them.