Spitballing: again.

In an organic attempt to distract or console myself the idea of a chemically infused nocturnal ramble suggested itself to me. Something I've been doing for years, as an outlet for my proclivities.  When I walk at night, in secluded mostly deserted places, I always wear something overtly feminine under some loose fitting lightweight boy-drag and when I feel safe I doff the outer layer and revel in my freedom.  It's exhilarating and liberating and immediately I began to imagine myself out somewhere free and fine.  "What should I wear this time?"  I thought.  Then the absurdity of the situation struck me.  Mere seconds after swearing off this behaviour I was plotting an outing.  I did not go out that night.  I told myself the idea was vestigial.  The last desperate gasp of a bankrupt lifestyle.  But I was wrong about that.  Dead wrong.