Maybe this is a stoopid question.

I don't like to think of myself as stupid. Even though 90% of my decisions speak for themselves, I wouldn't say I'm stupid exactly, just determined. I don't know what else to call it, but when I want something I go after it in a very single-minded way. For example, if that goal is to stay as loaded as possible for as long as possible you can see where that might lead. I have never really questioned the things that I've done or for that matter the way I've gone about doing them. "It sounded like a good idea at the time " has been a constant theme in my life.
I don't want to sound like every other poseur-punk-junkie-wannabe nihilist-asshole, (even though that is probably just what i am) but the problem , if you consider it one, is that I just don't give a fuck.

So I owe someone a big stack of cash for a very generous front. Oops! They know where to find me.

I shouldn't accept money for services rendered, soliciting is a crime! You gotta catch me first, suckas.

Maybe doing that monster shot is a bad idea? I'll deal with that when/if I wake up.

Now don't roll your eyes, I know what you're thinking, poor me I wanna die waaah. Well you are so wrong. I don't particularly want to die; I just can't seem to gather up enough give a shit to worry about it one way or the other.
All this crap is well and good but the real issue here revolves around a conversation I had with C. last week. He was belittling my lack of ambition and I was lamenting the fact that he has turned into a sanctimonious turd. ( I find that despite his current turd status I still love the bastard way too much.) Anyway, he was just going on and on about the fact that I am irresponsible, careless, a slob ect. Listing all my finer points as it were, before moving on to his philosophies on life.
According to C., all of the crap that I miss so much, what little I do care about, is like a weight around my neck.
"Why the fuck would you want a weight around your neck when you're flailing in a sea of shit? You have to cut it loose or you'll drown in crap!"
What C. has not yet realized is that my moving here was like another drop in my crap ocean, making it that much deeper and he comprises the largest part of the weight.
He says,"Always think about yourself, drop the weight or it'll drag you down."
So this is my question, what if your love for the weight is far greater than your fear of drowning. M.

Have a Laugh On Me...

Having just narrowly escaped a nasty confrontation with my local Jehovah's Witness representatives, I am now sitting in my bedroom with all the lights off. Damn but they are persistent little fuckers aren't they? I guess it is somewhat my fault though. Let me give you some history on the subject.
Anyone who knows me , knows that my boyfriend C. has a rich and varied past with these so called people of god. From birth he has had their shit spoon fed to him by a religious zealot. He likes to call her mom. I'm sure you can guess what I call her. Anyway after years of adolescent rebellion, prodigious drug use and not a few encounters with the law, my (obviously confused) beloved has clearly lost his fucking mind. He has come to the conclusion that now, after all those years of screwing around he needs to tend to his neglected spirituality. Not only that but he actually works himself into spasticated seizures trying to get ME to accept these (VERY questionable) beliefs. I can force myself to respect his delusions but that's about it!
I'm sorry, but if I wanted someone to dictate to me on all matters public and private, I would be living happily with my tyrant of a mother. Even she knows better than to try and tell me how to dress, who I can fuck (according to the JW's, nobody 'til I'm married) and after I am properly wed, the manner in which I am allowed to fuck : Missionary position, once during the week and twice on Saturdays. Sunday, is of course reserved for the "Hypocrite Hootenanny", um, I mean Meeting.
Anyway I'll get to the point. After a particularly intense spasticated seizure on the part on C. I, under the questionable influence of not a little bit of Tequila agreed to have "Those People" over to do a book study. If you don't know what that is, count yourself lucky, I hope you never have the misfortune of finding out.
Needless to say, now they have been jumping out from around every corner! Assaulting me with their little books, leaving notes on my door and ringing my phone off the hook. I am a virtual prisoner.
This morning's surprise visit yielded all three of the aforementioned forms of harassment. An odious little book was left behind, complete with condescending note attached. This was followed by a prolific amount of phone ringing when the door went unanswered.
When C. returns home from work, I will let him discover said book on the doorstep and feign complete ignorance,"Book study you say? I never heard the door! It must be all that noise outside. I hope they didn't stand out in that wind and rain too long."
I like to think that God has as twisted a sense of humor as I do. The storm started just minutes before the JW's arrived and is even now clearing up. Thanx G. Appreciatively, M.

Welcome to my pity party.

It's almost 11pm and where am I? Not asleep, obviously. Not high, unfortunately. I'm sitting in front of the computer, squinting up at the screen and trying way too hard to think of something even remotely clever to write. It's sad that this is the best I can come up with. I know I should go on to say something about how happy and well-adjusted I've become in the time I've been clean, but I'm just not feeling up to that sort of self delusion right now. If you've read this far then I feel I should at least spare you the usual "I've worked sooo hard and come so far, Praise Jesus blah, blah, blah." You don't deserve that crap and I get semi-nauseous just thinking such drivel, much less writing it down or "gulp" expressing it aloud. I have nothing against self- improvement or God for that matter, but I refuse to spout bullshit just because it's what I'm expected to say. I'm sure mom would love to hear me say that I am a changed girl, have turned over a new leaf ect., but it's just not so. The fact that I have gone this long without so much as seeing a syringe much less actual Heroin is due to this town, not my self control.
That's right people, if you ever think to make a completely life altering change, move to Farmington, New Mexico. Nothing against this place (not really anyway), but for a displaced junkie it sucks. Aside from being like the Twilight Zone (in a bad, completely uninteresting way), there is not shit to do here. Every time I set foot outside the door I am painfully reminded of how much I miss Cali. Seriously, it hurts me.
I'm sure that any Farmingtonians will be pissed to read this, you know the whole, " I can shit talk my town but no one else can" thing. Well, Fuck all y'all.
Anyway, I feel like this place is severely off in so many ways. Where are all the hustlers and Dope fiends ect.? Not here. If they are I can't find 'em. Not the kind I want anyhow. So frustrating.
It has come to my attention, via the Internet, that Northern New Mexico is supposed to be flooded with mass quantities of Black. Apparently Espanola is the O.D. capital of the USA. In what twisted alternate reality is it possible that I am a mere few hours from this Dope Mecca, yet cannot score to save my life? Can it be that no enterprising Paisa's have thought to share the bounty of the Espanola Valley here with us in crappy Farmington?
It's rather pathetic that at this point I am so violently in need of a good shot that I am trying to mastermind a fool-proof way to get one of my fellow junkies back home to send me some. I know, you laugh, and don't think I haven't spent countless hours trying to devise some way to fulfill this mission without getting totally ripped off. It's nothing against my babies in Bako, but come on now, let's be honest, we're all Dope fiends and it's so much easier to justify burning someone long distance. You don't have to worry about seeing them face to face or having to come up with some bullshit story, you just avoid their calls and hope they don't come for a visit anytime soon. Easy. Also I know that if someone sent me money to send them some Dope I would probably consider it for all of 5 seconds, then remember the fact that they were in Buttfuck, New Mexico, not strung out at all, just fiending. Therefore it would be logical to assume that I was in much more need of it than those suckers.
So there you have it. My dilemma. If I can so easily see myself doing such a thing (and I am a Princess among Dope fiends), then far be it for me to put it past my junky brethren. I do miss and love you all, even the motherfuckers I can't stand the sight of, that's how homesick I am.
Oh well, better homesick than dope sick I guess. Somehow I can't say that and really mean it. It must be a side effect from all those years of drug use, stupidity with a huge side of selective memory. That must be it because the "good ol days" weren't that great. Yesterday always seems better than today, ain't that about a bitch! I hope I won't be looking back at tonight sometime in the future thinking it was fucking fantastic. M.