A big wet kiss from me to you

I have to say thank you to a few people. I have not been on blogspot for very long but in these few short months I have come across some truly spectacular people. People who have no problem telling it like it is and damn the consequences or criticism. I'm sure I don't need to point out that I am also someone who cares little about the opinions others have of me. If you like me, well cheers, thanx a lot. If you don't well, fuck you anyway, you could disappear tomorrow and it wouldn't make a difference to me one way or the other.
I don't really consider this to be a bad attitude to have, after all if I spent all my time worrying about what others think and trying to conform, I would be just like everyone else and who the fuck needs that? I am content to be my weird, addicted, shameless self.
You may be asking yourself, "If she cares so little for the opinions of others, then what the hell is she doing posting her dirty laundry for all to see?"
Well, inconsistency is human nature at it's best I think. I really don't care what criticisms may come my way, 'cause well, I just don't. I have enough angst rolling through my head, adding the negative opinions of others would possibly make it explode. An exploding head I can do without thank you very much. It is altogether too easy for me to dismiss any negative e-mails (for some reason y'all like to talk shit via e-mail rather than through comments) and get on with my day.
I also love the fact that some of you get so irate at something I said that you feel the need to rattle off a 1500 word e-mail in my honor. There is nothing I like more than knowing that some off the cuff remark made by yours truly has sent someone into a crazed e-mail composing frenzy. My inner attention slut coming to the forefront.
So before I go on and make this post all about me (and I do love to talk about myself) let me get to the point.
A big wet kiss to Michelle and her crew in Florida. I love ya girl, thanx for the mention on your recent post and thanx to Greg for his comments, I hope this layout is a little easier to deal with. Kisses aplenty to my readers, at least those who have been kind enough to leave comments (instead of insane e-mails).
And for all of you who are interested in making your own special Internet friend, do what I did. Go to the drug forums and get to know some people. You never can tell what might happen, you take the chance of getting burned every time you score, so how is this any different? If you are as desperate as I was, it's a chance you are willing to take. That's the best I can do on that one, after all a girl never gives up her connect.
If you found me without the help of Michelle at Those who dance...(which is doubtful) then check her out, she's on my blogroll, you won't regret it. I've also added ...k1tten, who unfortunately is MIA more often than not but I look forward to greatness from her in the future.
And thanx to Lilygirl, whose continued patronage is much appreciated. I will do my best to construct that myspace but I am such a busy girl and you have no idea how exhausting it is do absolutely nothing all day. It's a wonder I can drag myself out of bed in the mid-afternoon, um morning.
A final farewell to all those people who hate the very thought of my existence. Adieu, adieu my beloved critics. It is for you that I save my final and sloppiest kiss, 'cause I know how much you'll appreciate it. Try not to break your fucking neck running to the sink to wash it off, ya bastards. As always Melody Lee, signing out. XOXO

Waiting for the man

So it's Friday, and you guessed it, I'm sitting here practically levitating out of my chair with anticipation. My week has been fucked due to the fact that I can't stop thinking about Ash. Then, inevitably I start to think about all the others who went before her. My friends have been dropping like flies for the last few years and even though after awhile I stop fixating on it, this recent loss has brought them all fresh to my mind. So naturally I feel as though I deserve to get high. I am entitled to a little mindless recreation (as if I ever need an excuse).
Having only just regained my ability to sit still, you would think that after the last time, I wouldn't be so eager to lay hands on some Dope. In my defense I will point out that any little discomforts I have been experiencing are insignificant in comparison to full blown Dope sickness. That is why I have dubbed it "Dope sick lite". Really it's irritating more than anything else. It will not kill me and in all honesty, I have no problem with the fact that by next week I will be enjoying it again. I have kicked 160 Mg's of methadone cold turkey in county jail, what I have now is a fucking cakewalk.
I try not to get too excited, you know, I don't want to get disappointed if it doesn't show. It usually takes 4 to 5 days to get here but there is always the chance that some do-gooder DEA agent will decide it's time to do a k9 sweep of the postal system. It would be just my luck if that happened, so... I sit here and try to pretend that I don't really care if it doesn't come.


A total fucking lie!


I will probably be devastated and then lapse into a supremely foul mood for the rest of the day. Five hours to go and it seems like an eternity. I wish I knew already, that way I could get on with my day, instead of sitting here like a tool watching the clock.
Oh well, at least it's kept me preoccupied so my mind doesn't drift to more depressing thoughts. I will no doubt continue my vigil until that precise moment when I hear the mail slot creak open and slam shut. Then I will calmly walk to the front door and check for my "special delivery", saying to myself the whole time, "I don't know what you're even checking for, it's not going to be there" while hoping against hope that I am wrong and that I will in a matter of minutes be resuming my part time love affair with a sexy riggful of Dope.
Yes my friends, I said sexy. For me , if I'm being completely honest, a shot of smack is quite possibly the most attractive thing in the world. Don't get me wrong , there are things, people that I love more than H. My little girl and C. are at the top of the list but when it comes to something that can make me forget myself so completely with just a passing glance it is a shot of Heroin, ready to go. I'm not saying that I will forsake anything and everything just to have it, although sometimes (most times) this has been the case. There are a couple things that will make me put my selfish needs aside, mainly the aforementioned C. and our daughter. But seeing as how neither one of them is presently here I am spared any conflicts of interest. I am free to be my selfish, Dope grubbing little self. That is... if it even comes.

Return of the calico blonde

Well, yesterday way the best day ever! I understand that sarcasm doesn't translate well via blog but I can't help myself. I'm in a somewhat better mood today, still sad but I guess I've gone through it so many times that in a way I've become desensitized. The first time was devastating the next a little less so, not that it's ever even close to numb. I suppose you can call it acceptance, if anything. There's nothing I can do now, they're gone and that's that but I still miss 'em.
I went on myspace and swiped some pics of a few friends from home that are still upright, for the most part. I have moved so many times, leaving a trail of possessions in my wake that any pics I had are long gone, so I made do with what I could find. I'll probably post one of me and C. eventually so y'all can get a look at us, if you even care. Or even if you don't, fuck it.
So , yesterday I was battling a case of Dope sick lite in addition to a case of the poor Me's. I rarely feel sorry for myself but everyone has their moments. So I did what I always do when I feel like shit and there is no narcotic refreshment to be found. I engaged in some cosmetic terrorism.
I can be a girly girl sometimes but for the most part I could care less if my nail polish is chipped or if my make-up is perfect. The one thing I usually pay regular attention to is my haircolor.
I have dyed it every color of the rainbow and some that you would be hard pressed to identify. I stopped with the crazier colors because not all tricks were as fascinated by purple, blue,or pink hair as I was. One of my few concessions for the sake of my profession.
When I got here to New Mexico, my hair was a non-descript shade of brown. So un-me but I was just so wrapped up in kicking and getting adjusted to this travesty of a town that I didn't think about it. Later when I brought up the subject of taking it in hand and maybe going back to violet or some such shade, C., who has become insufferably uptight about shit, suggested that I leave it be , as it might give the neighbors the wrong impression.
That statement alone would usually have been enough to send me helter-skelter to the nearest beauty supply to purchase the most obnoxious color they carry. I don't deal well with patronizing ass faces.
However as I had promised myself that I would really try to be good and behave for the sake of my relationship with C., I resisted the urge and resigned myself to the fate of doo doo brown hair.
I have brought it up occasionally only to be told that I am better off sticking with a natural color, like brown.
Yesterday, I could take it no longer. I was feeling like shit, both physically and emotionally and when I passed the bathroom mirror in that state, the dull mass of crap colored hair was the final straw.
I rushed to the beauty supply and re-stocked. After arriving home I immediately went to work, furiously bleaching, dyeing, toning and finally cutting my hair beyond all recognition.
It was fucking marvelous!
I ended up with hair every shade of blonde, from platinum (on top)to golden brown and a wicked shade of blue black underneath. I chopped it to my shoulders, relieving myself of about six inches of hair. Then attacked it again and razored the ends.
I am brilliant! Incomparable! And strangely satisfied in a way that usually results from a good fuck or a good shot. I even got around C.'s little directive about natural colors. The hair on my head is all natural colors, it just happens that none of them are mine. But I will tell you this I am the best god damned un-natural blonde you will ever come across.
Un-natural, it applies to me in so many ways but I find that strangely satisfying too. XOXO Melody

It never gets any easier...never

As out of touch as I am out here I guess it's no surprise that I just found out about my friend Ash having died. It's been months, I guess it happened sometime at the end of last year, right before her birthday. I haven't talked to anyone to find out how she died but being that she had just gotten out of jail and was a serious dope fiend like me, I have a pretty good idea.
The last time I saw her was in July of last year, we had run into each other on the street. She'd been on methadone for awhile but was still using now and again. I copped for us and we went to an empty old church and fixed up. I hadn't spoken with her in forever, as a matter of fact we were kinda on the outs. She had quit dating and it had seemed like forgotten about all of us that were still going strong.
Well it was a little stiff at first but in a few minutes we were bullshitting like we always did. She had been one of my closest friends, we had lived together off and on and I realized how much I missed having her around. We had a really good time that day and when she left I remember smiling at her and thinking that we would kick it again soon.
Not long after that her boyfriend told me she had gone to jail on some warrants and that she was looking at a year or more. I thought about writing her but never did as I was so caught up in my own little hustle that I couldn't be bothered.
It's funny but when I have thought about going back to Bako to visit , Ash was always one of the first people I would have looked up, Ash, Lora and Drew. It is really ironic that all these months when I've been going over shit in my mind, planning what we would do when I go back, she's been gone.
In the last few years I've lost so many friends that it's hard to keep track sometimes. All dope related. Sara , who I had known since Jr. high died of hep c complications. Sam OD'd in the shower, Mikey fell out and never woke up. The list goes on . Every time I hear about losing another friend, I get the same sad, sick feeling and think that most of them were not even thirty years old yet, I mean fuck!
I always say that I'm not ashamed of anything that I've done and that much is true, I'm not ashamed but my regrets always take me back to the friends I've lost. If I could change anything it would be that, I would bring them all back because they were the greatest bunch of fuck -ups this side of forever and I wish I could see them again. If wishes were horses, junkies would ride, right?
I love you Ash, my beautiful baby and I'm thinking of all the times we had and wishing there were more ahead. I miss all my babies and it never gets any easier...never.

I'm in love with the sound of my own voice

I have been reminiscing a little too much I think. Bombarding you with war stories that are a dime a dozen as far as I'm concerned. Every fiend has 'em and everyone has had to sit through numerous tellings of the same fucking story that may have been hilarious the first five times but now at twenty and counting it has seriously lost it's allure. I do love to re-live my past, it's that selective memory I've talked about.
No matter how hideous the situation may have been at the time it seems infinitely more interesting and fun than anything I currently have going on. I miss my friends so much, every last one, even the scant less fuckers that I would usually avoid like the plague. I miss running the streets at all hours and getting so fucked up I can't see straight let alone walk. I even miss sitting around getting loaded with the girls as we all bitch about the tricks we had that day or brag about how much we made for doing next to nothing.
It may be hard for some people to grasp the fact that something like that is even possible, that I could think longingly about that lifestyle. So I'll just say this, if you don't get it, I won't even try to explain 'cause you never will.
I will do my best to stay current and not flashback too much into shit that is over and done with. Though I do seem to be enamored of my own genius. Come to think of it, I could listen to myself all day. I am sooo fucking brilliant, how could anyone ever tire of me?
So really this has all been for naught. I will keep writing about whatever finds it's way into my head, be it something that happened five minutes ago or five years ago. Stupid of me to forget that I really don't care if I bore some of you 'cause no one is holding a gun to your head and making you read this. If you do and you like what I have to say, bully for you, you have excellent taste. If you don't like it then fuck you anyway what are you doing here?
I will mention that I am more charming than usual this morning because due to my infamous Internet friend I have been enjoying some fine Afghan brown and having recently done the last of it find myself cranky and unable to sleep. The price you pay my loves, for a dreamy high.
I also find it severely annoying that I can feel borderline dope sick after only four days of using. Body chemistry is a bitch, all those little cells remember what has come before and jump in with both feet.
So I leave you for now, because I must needs sweat and fidget for God knows how long before I get to sleep for a few bloody minutes! Funny thing is I'll get more dope on Friday, so I can start the cycle of dope sick lite all over again.

I was born on a green light daddy-o

So, I have made some changes as it was pointed out to me that my layout was not reader friendly. Being that I was in a giving frame of mind I actually took someone else into consideration. Just kidding, thanx for letting me know, one of my few flaws is that I am as blind as a bat, so I would have kept squinting at it til kingdom come.
Anyway, tonight I have been reflecting on my not so distant past and marveling at how I've changed over the years. I want you to know that I have always been the personable sweetheart that you are getting to know and love. It's not so much my personality that has changed as it is the way I look at things. Example, when I first started fucking around with drugs was like at age 12. The usual weed experience. Then I moved on to speed then acid, then speed, then I tried some KJ then some more speed.
I would have been relegated to the ranks of hardcore tweeker if it hadn't been for a chance occurrence. One night (after an interminable amount of days awake) we were all kicking back, feeling like shit and bemoaning the comedown. I remember bitching about being bored with crank, crystal etc and wishing there was something else we could do. My dad had been a heroin addict but for some reason the though of doing smack had never really occurred to me.
Several suggestions were offered. Crack, E, crack and then it came to us. My friend Adam said,"Hey, I know lets get some Heroin."
I pretty sure he was joking, cause at that time the closest thing we had to experience with shooting dope was watching Sid and Nancy. Well we all talked big, you know like "I wish I knew where to score some Heroin. That shit would be so fucking bad. It's too bad no one has any H hookups."
It would have ended at that except for one thing, my friend Willie offered up,"I know where we could score some Heroin."
You could have heard a fucking pin drop it got so quiet. We all just looked at each other, cause actually getting our hands on some H was the last thing anyone expected to happen. Now when most kids would have started to stutter out excuses and get the fuck out of there we just sat. Sat and then turned to Willie and asked him to tell us in detail where, who and how much.
I remember thinking that I was terrified of needles and what the fuck had I gotten myself into this time. Even now I find it a little odd that I wasn't worried about the actual Heroin, just the needle that would get it into me.
Let me tell you, there is nothing funnier than a carload of underage kids cruising the hood at 11pm trying to score some Heroin. We had no clue what the fuck we were doing. Predictably, we got burned right off. Willie's contact went in the front door and out the back, presto burno. Luckily we were for the most part a bunch of spoiled kids from well to do families, so money wasn't an issue. Second try, me and my friend Brianna walked up to a run down firetrap called the Bakersfield Motel and used our feminine wiles. At ages 15 and 16 we had wiles to spare, so it took no time at all before we had some Gangster guy ready to hook us up. Only problem was we had to ditch the guys we were with and drive to another place. As this started to sound more and more like a bad porno I began to have some doubts but by then he was already in the car and ready to go. So we went, me, my friend Sara and Brianna.
The guy, Wino, said that his cousin sold H and that he would get us the shit if we would kick down. That seemed reasonable after all he was going out of his way to hook us up. So we drove to a seriously scary part of town. I remember thinking that Lake view was where they were always killing people in drivebys and shit and that we were fucked. In later years I would get to know Lake view like the back of my hand.
We pulled onto a street that was full of low riders and people were all over the place. Wino jumped out and told me to park. As soon as he got out , Brianna was like ,"Fuck the money, lets go!" and Sara was like,"Mmm I think we should stay, look at all these fine guys, Mexicans have big dicks." My friend Sara always had her priorities straight.
I didn't even have to decide, cause he was already back and jumping into the car with some of his homeboys. I will always remember him saying to Sara, "Scoot over girl and make room for my dogs." and Sara slapping me on the shoulder and saying," Melody, I don't have to ride back here with dogs do I?" Sara was not the sharpest tool in the shed.
He had me drive up to an abandoned house and we all got out. It was my first intro to a honest to goodness shooting gallery. There were people nodding on the floor and shooting dope in the kitchen where they had a bunch of candles burning so they could see to hit.
The guy already had our shit and had pinched off some for himself, then he proceeded to cook up some of ours and load it into riggs. I was not my usual quick tongued self so I just stood there and watched as he handed one to each of us. They then explained to us that If we wanted to get our dope and go, we needed to prove that we were gonna shoot cause we didn't look like fiends. Fuck no, I imagine we looked like kids, stupid kids at that!
I tried explaining to him that we were weekend warriors and that we only used occasionally. He took our points, squirted out some dope and then gave them back. And stood waiting. Then I tried telling him that our boyfriends were the ones that hit us , that we didn't know how. He took off his belt and motioned to me. I guess I must have walked to him cause I remember gritting my teeth and waiting for him to stick me. I don't even remember feeling a poke. One minute I was standing there with my eyes closed, the next it was like I had just dropped backwards off a cliff and was floating in free fall, the most glorious feeling I had ever experienced. I think I must have told Brianna and Sara that it was OK , that it was good, cause they followed suit and were soon next to me against the wall, all of us nodding and having those crazy wonderful Heroin dreams. I don't really know how long we were like that but when I finally became coherent enough to get up and leave it was almost morning. I gathered up my friends and surprisingly had some dope left to take with me. Wino turned out to be pretty cool. I mean he still ripped me good, but he could have taken it all.
We made it back with quite a story to tell and some bona-fide Heroin to boot. Then we opened it up and really looked at it. It was the first time any of us had seen H and this was black tar H. It was not like the stuff they had in Pulp Fiction. We were at a loss, what the fuck do you do with this sticky gross shit. I was sure that it was the same stuff we did earlier but how? It was time for a cinema drug tutorial. We studied, Drugstore Cowboy and Trainspotting, The Basketball Diaries and Sid and Nancy, fast forwarding to all the cook and shoot scenes. It's ridiculous, I know but what are a bunch of determined junkies to be to do when there is no helpful Dope fiend to teach you the ropes. We finally got most of it figured out and spent the next day LOADED like no body's business. I think now that we were lucky not to all have OD'd, since we knew fuck all about what we were doing.
It was that night that started it all and I would spend the rest of my time up to this point chasing that first spectacular high. I became somewhat of a drug snob. I would only do H and saw everything else as a loss of money and time. Someone once asked me what went through my mind when I did that first shot. The first coherent thought I had was," Oh my God, I have been wasting sooo much time on all that other shit!"
It probably should have been," What the fuck was I thinking letting him stick a needle that has been fuck knows where into me." But alas my though were all for the new found wonder of Heroin.
As a drug snob, I turned my nose up at anything that was not my beloved H. Never would I dream of doing speed again. The closest I came was when a friend introduced me to speed balls but that was, of course coke. I was like that for years. Until The first time I did my first long stretch in county. I was looking at minimum of 6mos if I was lucky to get a fed cap kick (Cali jails are way over federal capacity) and was kicking a nasty methadone habit. It took three months before I was able to sleep somewhat regularly and almost as long before the smell of that jail food stopped making me vomit. I'm the only person I know who actually got skinnier in jail.
I also became the opposite of a drug snob, I was now an equal opportunity drug user. I would smoke, swallow or shoot anything that made it in there just to take away that post withdrawal anxiety. Drug snob? Not I.
So I find myself thinking about those days and smiling. I would not say no to some speed or crack or E or Sherm or whatever nowadays. I find that H is still my main man and that I would rather do that than anything but in a pinch I'll take whatever you got. Cause the only thing worse than not being able to do any H is not being able to do anything at all. Never say I don't learn from past misconceptions. M.

So much for being a superficial cunt

A friend of mine who had the supreme good luck to stumble across my blog gave me some constructive criticism. He said, "You know Mel, this shit's pretty funny and most of it's true, I should know I was there for some of it but why are you only letting people see the sarcastic bitch side of you?"
I thought about it for awhile and I can't really come up with a decent answer. I guess like most people my extremely clever banter is a defense mechanism. Yes people I am not without the occasional twitch of mania and of course I'm sure you've all figured out that my bravado masks an ENORMOUS inferiority complex. Well, that's what the shrink said anyway, Mama didn't love me and Daddy didn't care, so between the coke and smack I stripped their wallets bare. Not really but you get the general idea.
I'm not trying to come off as a snarky bitch, honestly (have you heard that people using the word honestly when addressing you are almost always lying) but I can't seem to help it. It gets me in trouble all the time. C. is forever blowing up at me over some comment I've made. What gets me is that for the most part I don't even recall saying it in a shitty way. Sometimes it gets so bad that I have to start sentences with, "I'm not trying to sound like an asshole..."
I think maybe it is his inferiority issues coming to the surface. I refuse to believe that every other word coming out of my mouth is destined to offend him.
Another thing about C.
My friend pointed out that what I have written about him makes him come off like a self absorbed dick and he's really not. We have been together off and on since that fateful summer of '97 (see Scientology post). Sometimes more off than on, spending up to a year or more apart and seeing other people. Somehow we always end up back together. We spent some of the craziest times of our lives together and I think that binds us tighter than anything else. We understand each other because we were there, going through it at the same time.
He's not perfect by any means ,who is (besides me, of course). He worries too much about shit he can't change, he cares too much about what his parents think and he drinks too much.

1)He's always wasting unnecessary energy freaking out about things that can't be helped.

2)He never used to give two shits about what his family wanted but now it's a constant issue.

3)He drinks to fill up that empty feeling that addicts get when they quit using.

But he also works his ass off in the oilfields twelve hours a day to pay the bills, he has never hit me, even though I'm sure that punching me in the mouth and choking the life out of me has figured prominently in his dreams . He is never stingy with his money and has always remembered my birthday.
He sent for me a year after he left, even though he knew what I was up to almost from the minute he left. He never makes excuses for loving me, he just does.
I don't know if you've realized it yet but I can be a little difficult to live with. The fact that I make no apologies for myself tends to rub the wrong way. The best I have been able to do is say,"I'm not sorry for what I've done but I'm sorry that it hurt you." An ass backwards apology if ever there was one.
As sappy as it sounds, I really think we were meant to be together. I've been with guys who had more money and less problems. I can't say they were better looking 'cause C. is a gorgeous hunk of man meat but you get the idea. Whoever I was with, C. was always in the back of my mind.
The closest I've gotten to suicidal behavior was a direct result of needing him and missing him so much that I had to stay fucked-up just to make it bearable. So what if I did too much, at least then I wouldn't have to feel anything. Sad but true.
I love him so much I have staved off my selfish need to get the fuck out New Mexico and run screaming back to Cali. Because even though I could go back and continue my life as it was, getting marvelously gowed out every day and running the streets with my friends, C. is here. So here I stay.
If that isn't real enough for you Eddie, you can piss off, it's the best you're gonna get. As for that crack about my stories being mostly true, I claim artistic license, they are my memories after all. And by the way Ednardo, if you dare doubt the story about C. and the severed head, ask your sis about it, she was there.
Bye Babies, Love Melody.

I'm a waste of space...and too fucking lazy to care

Ahhh, 6am. What a Godless fucking hour. One of the things I hate about being (mostly) sober is the fact that I can't sleep for shit! I always heard that after being a Heroin addict you are never really able to sleep right again. In my case this has proven to be too true. I'm lucky if I get four hours a night, even if I do it's never all at once. Unfair! There is nothing more cruel than taking away the ability to sleep from someone who has spent the majority of the last ten years semi-comatose. I brought it on myself you say? Fuck you anyway smart ass.
It has recently been brought to my attention that I could be doing sooo much more to improve myself. I could go out into the community and make myself available to people who need help. I could volunteer at a school, help the sick, feed the poor. Who the fuck am I, Jesus? It was really difficult to keep my trap shut after hearing that load of crapola. I was nodding like a fucking bobble-head, biting my tongue the whole time. If one thing could be furthest from my mind, it's making myself useful to others. I'm barely useful to myself for fuck sake.
Can you really see me volunteering at a school? I mean REALLY? What a god damned nightmare that would be. I have nothing against kids, for the most part we get along but I am highly allergic to bullshit . Imagine what would happen when some kid asked me what I did back in Cali? How I felt about drugs? Well kid, I was a street whore and I think drugs are about the only thing that might possibly make this place bearable.
The shit would undoubtedly hit the fan. I guess I might be good at telling kids the truth about being a junky but what about the end, when I sum up by saying that all that hardship showed me the error of my ways and that I will never do drugs again. Horseshit!
So you see why I feel that my talents would be better wasted at home, as God intended. The only services I would be able to offer my community are accompanied by a healthy fee, paid up front of course. I'm sure my past in the hospitality field would prove useful and much appreciated by some.
In the case of my self-righteous lecturer however, I think not. I'm sure you've figured out that this barrage of nonsense was offered up by none other than my beloved C. If he knew what my contribution to this town would entail, I bet he'd keep his brilliant suggestions to himself. I'm content to keep doin' what I do, JACK SHIT MOTHAFUCKAS!
Love y'all. Melody

Friday the 13th, just another day in Buttfuck, New Mexico

So, I'm sitting here, bored, bored, bored. And being that we're such good friends I just knew you would be dying to hear about it. The mortuary down the street has been doing back to back cremations, so I have been enjoying the smell and ash that floats down here to my little piece of Hell. As if this place could be any more dismal. The only satisfaction I get is when people coming out hear me blasting TSOL Code Blue. You know," I wanna fuck the the dead." It's petty but I never said I was perfect, or did I? Whatever. I don't really wanna fuck the dead, it's just a good ice breaker.

I just got through tossing out the psych meds I got prescribed last week. What a fucking waste of time! Instead of giving me Benzos like a normal Psychiatrist, the bitch put me on some ancient anti-depressants from the 60's. I know amitriptlyn sounds like fun, but guess again. For the first couple of days I felt like I had a colossal hangover and on the third day I made the genius decision to mix it with Jim Beam. Having achieved stellar results before when mixing prescription drugs and alcohol I never though twice. Big mistake! In less than an hour I was twitching like a puppet on strings. The only thing I can compare it to is taking Seroquel w/out heroin to balance it out. Funny huh, balancing out an anti-psychotic with opiates.

Well anyway, it took about 8 hours of arm/leg jerking hell before it wore off. Ugh, I get cold sweats just thinking about it, way too close to kicking for my liking. It's funny how I never worry about kicking until it's too late. Like in the back of a cop car too late. It's at that moment that it hits me. I don't care if I just did the fattest shot, the second those cuffs go on I start to get sick. It's like cop car cooties just drain the dope right out of me. The mind is a powerful thing, now if I could just figure out how to do it in reverse and get loaded at will my world would be complete. I'll just have to settle for my weekly deliveries from my Internet friend, my new best friend.

Ah, I digress. Back to those stupid meds. After spending hours in the psych's office doing my best anxiety Annie impression all I get are shitty anti-depressants? Oh and relaxation tape therapy. Fuck ! If I wanted to listen to that crap I could do it in the privacy of my own home, on my stereo. My Cd player can't prescribe me drugs, more's the pity, that's what I pay those assholes for. It's a thoroughly disgusting situation. I am thoroughly disgusted. I go back on Tuesday.

Like a junkie on Christmas morning

I finally got loaded. Yep, somebody came through for me. I won't go into detail on that except to say that I love the Internet, fucking brilliant! Getting high was superb,it was all that I remembered and more, probably because I hadn't done a shot in like 8 months. When it came I was so excited. I was like a junkie on Christmas morning, you know when you go see your family so you can get all the cards with money and checks in them. It was like that. I was almost afraid to do it, almost but not enough to stop of course. The anticipation and fear only made it better. When I got it in me it was like a religious experience. I worshiped at the junk altar. I am a true believer in the Church of self medication.
It was enough to get me and C. supremely fucked up. It had been like a year and a half for him so he was puking a bit but very, very happy. We always get along so much better when we're high. It's like all the bullshit between us just melts away. We get all touchy-feely and just lay around feeling good. It was nice not to worry about anything and just be. Be loaded, be happy, be myself, instead of this ridiculous half a person that I'm supposed to be. I'm not a housewife, I'm definitely not a productive member of society. If anyone ever asks me what I do for a living, my response is always the same, "As little as fucking possible".
I have always been truthful about my (so called) shortcomings. I'm lazy, a little fucked in the head, counter-productive, over destructive. If I could conceivably lock myself in a room full of Heroin and spend the rest of my life shooting dope I would. Not pretty but it's the truth. OK, maybe not my whole life, I might step out every once in a while to eat or something but for the main part I think I would be happy as a pig in shit.
My dad told me that when he was shooting dope all his friends told him he was so out of control he would "die fixin", this was old school junkie slang for a hard-core addiction (what other kind is there)that almost always ended in OD. He's clean now and has been for years but he transferred his "die fixin" title over to me. I think it was his way of telling me to be careful.
I never worried too much about the dying part and I guess that hasn't really changed. I figure it's the chance you take. I really do believe that the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom, but then again I may just be an ignorant junkie bitch. Go figure. M.