back to black

Yesterday was just one of those days.

Sitting in my living room with the dog barking at a near painful levels, staring blankly into the TV with blood running down through the short blond hairs in my beard. Finally I noticed it after about five minutes when my roommate came in, handed me a Kleenex and muttered, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I get up and walk out, I don't need to hear that shit right now.

For the most part, I really do not have any valid reason for getting high. I suppose it keeps me from flipping out constantly, which happens anyways, and bashing skulls against concrete. I work in a pretty high stress environment, dealing with truckers and menopause crazy women sitting next to me, and that seems to be one of the reasons that I smoke a pack of camels a day and scrape resin out of a glass pipe on my lunch break while driving with my knee down country roads at 65 mph. Maybe that's the reason why I made a call last night that I hadn't in more than four years.

So anyway, as I walk down the stairs I get this itch. Not really an itch, more like a burning urge, to break a promise I made so long ago. I pick up the phone call my coke guy and ask a horridly embarrassing question,

"Hey...um...can you get H?"

"Excuse me?"

"H?"

"What the fuck is that?"

".....Heroin."

At this point I am really regretting making this phone call. After about 30 seconds of long unadulturated silence...

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

How many times am I going to hear that today.

"Nevermind, forget I asked."

About five minutes later I get another phone call from the guy who gave me my connection's number. I could go through the dialogue of the conversation, but...well you could probably guess the details of the transcript. In hindsight, I got lucky, and I mean very lucky. You hear about people who OD because they get back on the horse after not riding for a long time (in my case 4 years) and accidentally go under for good. Maybe that is what I wanted, maybe not, it doesn't matter. The risk was there and I missed out on something I never should have picked up in the first place. In a sense I kept my promise to stay away from it, but the more and more I think about it, the more I realize that I didn't keep my promise. I got lucky because in my heart I was already crawling back to black.

what one does at a party

so here i sit...saturday night one thirty in the morning. the question one might ask is "why in God's name would you punch keys on a keyboard when you could be having such a great time." i am a professional when it comes to going through the motions.

good at it? no not really, in fact everyone asks me what is wrong, or they say "OMG!!! YOU MUST BE SOOOO DRUNK." actually im not drunk im hammered, been listening to the blues all day and wondering why i snorted my whole mountain of cocaine last night so i have nothing to force me to love life.

Last night was one of those situations where the only thing that outweighed the amount of white powder going up my nostrils was the amount of stupid shit coming out of my mouth. no one fucking reads this anyways so the fact that i admit my blatant drug addiction doesnt matter. who is going to criticize me? if i want to piss my dollars up my nose and wish all my friends would all go to hell well who the fuck is going to stop me.

isnt it funny that i sit in a dirty basement with college kids from my alma mater and buy their beer...pathetic, dont pretend you dont think otherwise. i long for something more and maybe thats the reason i sit here instead of showing everyone just how good i am at faking. i sit here thinking about what other notable bloggers are doing on their saturday night, surely not pissing away their time on a computer screen. nevermind anyways i am just complaining...and she keeps calling me so i have to go......

in addition

"when a man lies he murders some part of the world" --Cliff Burton

i have killed a whole lot of this world

seriously i can't believe im actually writing a blog

ok. to be perfectly honest with you i have no idea why i am writing this. to be perfectly honest i thought personally that blogging was gay. ignorant fuck, i suppose, and hypocritical as well. in any case, if there is anyone who ever does to decide to read these mispelled, mispunctuated, uncapitalized ramblings, i would imagine that they would realize that within the first five minutes. i am maybe slightly witty and clever, but im sure not enough so to garner the endless postings and repostings of some of my more esteemed colleuges on this site, but if you are reading this, i must indeed extend my thanks.

the real reasoning for this was a product of yesterdays unproductive internet perusings which i so frequently find my self engaging in while on the clock at the trucking company where i work. there i sit, constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure im not busted by the boss, and even more constantly trying, 9 times outta 10 unsuccessfully, to avoid undertaking a quick google image search for porn. yesterday, however, i actually found something worth reading, on this very site actually, detailing a young woman's experiences with...well never mind that now it doesnt matter. i got paid to read her blog for the entire afternoon and left feeling so much different than ever, sad. who in their right fucking mind is batty enough to be sad when leaving work, me i guess, but her writing did something to me. begged me to look into my own past and think about the fucked up, funny or ackward things i have been through, post them, and see if anyone is interested.

by nature i am a liar. not a particularly good one either. this, however, never seems to stop me from coming up with the most amazing fish tales full of bullshit beyond belief. but in undertaking on this privacy breeching venture, i have decided to spill not one false word on to your computer screen. in all honesty (ass) i think you should find yourself priveleged that you are the only person i know who i am completely honest with. not my girlfriend, my parents, friends...most importantly not myself.

the thing about being a liar is that after you spend so much time coming up with stupid useless ass lies, you start to believe them. most of them start while im smoking pot in my car on the freeway going home and i think something along the lines of "holy shit! wouldn't people really think i was nifty if i told them i..." fill in the blanks with your own imagination. what did you think about? is it totally ridiculous? well, i probably said it then. sometimes i even forget which stories are true and which arent or which details have been exaggerated and which have not. this is especially embarrassing when being called out by girlfriend or parent...even more so when there is a nice crowd in attendance to see my face turn red and my brain running in circles to defend myself....which is never...ever...possible.

in any case i promise to be honest with you (promises mean a whole fucking lot coming from someone who just admitted to being a liar, but whatever). i really truly do hope someone reads this, but if it turns out my labors are inevitably fruitless, i am in the end doing myself a service. finally being honest within my own mind. in which case i stumble upon the question of whether writing this makes me more or less sane? maybe neither...maybe just a bigger loser