That was the week that was

It was indeed an extremely weird week.

Monday was Memorial Day. For unknown reason, I thought that a cookout was in order. Poorly thought out and planned, a few folks, who were already here we're about the only attendees.

A few hotdogs were grilled, a few beers were had and that was the extent of that celebration.

Tuesday was another matter entirely.  The day started like any other monthly payday. Some debts were paid, some supplies were bought and then things went sideways.

It started when a friend toók me to Wallyworld for my monthly grocery run. I felt really out of sorts and asked to cut the trip short. When I did get home I thought some sort of overdose had occured. As it turned out, I was running a seriously high temp and was, for lack of a better word, delerious.

To be honest though I thought that I had indeed taken too much of something. I was out of my head and felt that I had the Covit. Testing proved that not to be the case, but for awhile I was convinced.

The night spent in the ICU was like being in a horror show. The sick sounds of people having their lungs vacuumed out,  to too frequent screams from those truly on the edge of death left me badly shaken.

The balance 9f the week was a mixed bag. From my escape from the *CU and the hospital, to the trip home. The new people met, held in contempt, mistrusted or trusted a little. The dirbiveness of some debts and the hassle and hustle with a flipper and tank peddler.

On further note, I'm out of town and have enough medicine to get my through Friday.

So aft

I was a little bit happy...

And I was a bit disappointed.

I got in contact with my old roommate a bit earlier in the week. We had decided that a get together was warranted. From my perspective to clear the air on some things.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what motivated her. Perhaps the same reasons I felt a face to face meeting was necessary. Maybe just to satisfy some curiousity she had regarding how things were at the old ranch.

Or whatever name she may have given this place.

Regardless, I was actually tickled that she decided to visit. She seemed to be pleased as well, in her low key, reserved sort of way. She did laugh, on an unforced some type of way and did indeed have a real smile on her face. I also asked her to score a gram of her favorite recreational drug.

The price she quoted from her dude was a bit on the high side. I let that go, as the at she probably needed a few bucks for later. If memory duoted me correctly, she seldom scored more than a half gram when buying for herself.

I also remembered that she didn't put all our f her money into boi. The reason was the trips to Micky D's for her favorite sandwich and largest. She also had a good investment in makeup.

The reasons for that were both personal and professional. On that I will comment no further than tto day that she is a woman of incredible beauty.

As I had found out earlier, I did need her to do something that I couldn't do myself. That was to let me into my apartment. Without going into too much detail, some people left my place and had me locked out. On a sense.

So we walked to my place annd we shared somethings that had happened since the last time we were together. My part was not a happy tale.


Her story, what little she told didn't seem as tragic as mine, but nonetheless, there didn't seem to be s great deal to cheer about. It almost seemed to me as though she were a prisoner of sorts. There were rules and hours that needed to be followed. 
Getting locked out for the night had consequences.

Anyway we got in and I offered her the boi that was bought. I weighed it first. It was light by almost 2 points. I should have told her to call the dude back.

I didn't.

I also should have divvied the dope up. Again she grabbed about half of the gram. I was actually taken aback by what was left. But manners maketh the man. So I kept my mouth shut.

I had forgotten her appetite for heroin.

As was our custom when getting high together, I would ask her to hit me. Well. She did get herself a good hit and was nodding out while trying to stick a needle into my vein.

That's a lot of fun.

The other mistake was made when she asked me to turn on my hotspot. From then on her attention was divided. I could have had a conversation with her, even if she weren't high as a kite from the heroin.

From that point forward, the evening was lost. The realization that she was happier away from me than in this place did slowly sink into my stubborn brain.

Added to that is the sorry fact that she is not long for this world. That's a shame too.

Did I mention that she is an incredibly beautiful woman.

Things are going to change

That's my hope anyways...

For the better part of ten years I have lived alone. Occasionally friends came to visit, get high and generally just party a bit.

It was a rare occasion if someone spent the night. As a matter of fact, that was pretty much discouraged. The thought of any sort of entanglement was antithema to my way of life.

I was and am disabled, but pretty much functioned as an independent person. Those days are now behind me. My condition has deteriorated to the point where help for some everyday duties are becoming difficult at best.

This is the price of living too long.

Other factors have been the passing of a dear friend. She was the one sure bet if I needed something like a trip to a doctor's office or a monthly trip to the grocery store.

Yeah, I know, you're surprised that a crackhead did things like eat or cleaned their house.

The simple fact is that life goes on and there are times we need to catch up to that fact. The thing is that our bad habits stay. To be honest, we tend to gather one or two others along the way as well.

As mentioned before meth and heroin have been added to the mix. Crack and powder cocaine have slipped to the wayside a bit.

It also seems the fans if those drugs, perhaps hobbyists, if you may, also look for safer places to consume their shit.

Heroinin in particular and occasionally meth are injected. IV consumption is easier to accomplish. Needles exchanges and laws allowing anyone to purchase needles have helped along those lines. Therei hardly any excuse to use a dirty needle.

One would think so, anyways.

Smoking meth, or ice as they call it around here is generally smoked. The pipe is a bit different than a crack pipe, but I'm getting on a tangent.

Many if these are homeless, broke and at times desperate. The ways that they acquire their drugs is sometimes at my expense and maybe even dignety.

 Now I need a person to help me with the day to day duties of carrying on life that at least gives the appearrance of normalcy. The activities that have been happening here have to end. Not only for the sake and safety of whoever may come to help, but for my safety and sanity as well.

It's going to be an interesting few weeks.

Changes versus Growth

I received a phone call from a friend late last night.  The caller had just celebrated his birthday. He is now 33
 Years of age.

Or is he 32 years old.

We talked about a wide variety of topics. From relationships to the comditions of of our living arraignments. We talked about the manner in which we interacted with each other and how honesty forms a basis for the way people treat each other.

I haven't been the most honest person I know by a longshot. The thing is that the things I do to manipulate people is so automatic and part of my fiber that the process is almost complete before I realize what has happened.

How I reached this position in this blog and of course in self realization is a mystery.

Here we are...

With all this said, my place is yet again being used for nefarious purposes. There is a payoff this time, as the place did get cleaned.

The down side is the fact that again strangers are in my home. Perhaps a bit  less grimy than others. Maybe not as desperate either as well. But the results usually end up less than a satisfactory.

Again.

Coronavirus and Cinco DeMayo

Well, I have never really understood the reasons why American citizens would be celebrating a Mexican holiday. This year though, many of us will celebrate any holiday for any reason. Any reason to abandon sheltering in place would be welcomed.

I craved getting out of my apartment, regardless of the reason. Everything, with exception of a fire was welcomed to me. Block parties, to Jazz & Blues Fest were the usual excuses to get outside. This winter, while not particularly a severe one, did offer opportunities to escape for short periods of time.

Then Covid - 19 or Coronavirus made its appearence. The entire community was out on total lockdown. Only businesses that were considered."essential" were allowed to remain open. Many, if not all of you reading this are fully aware of the restrictions the entire population is now yet placed under.

Anyways,  ot get to the main reason for this post, I'll let the historians research elsewhere.

I want to talk about things lost. Those things are both people and stuff. The stuff ranged from the drugs kept here, to the clothes and personal property that has vanished from sight.

I have to admit to a gradually fading short term memory. Part of that may well be the result of the recreational chemicals I ingest. That results in my occasionally losing small to substantial amounts of those drugs.

One thing I am certain if is an unexpected visit from various folks, who believe they know where those drugs are hiding. Sometimes they even find them.

Sometimes.

As the weather improves, the more adventurous of my friends are trying other methods to gain unauthorized access to my space and property.

Sadly, my computer, while seldom used, but surely missed when I get into a mood to write has disappeared.

In regards to people, that makes me ache inside. From my first "home healthcare worker" to a long time neighbor and friend who shared confidences with each other.

Both seem to be doing well, although direct contact has been nonexistant. There are other ways to know they are moving on with their lives, but detail is missing.

I miss them both.

They probably know that fact and may even feel the same.

I guess.

How much from you...

How much from me...

That's the way it seems to be going lately around here.  Life with another human being, so far as I am concerned is kind of a waste. They seem to want more than I have to give and it is kind of tiring.

The roof we have over our heads is temporary at best. My efforts to locate new residence is falling behind as well. Costs without paying rent are out of hand and soon the creditors are going to be looking for theirs.

Fact of the matter is that I just don't have it.

That could prove to be painful in so far as my future is concerned. Debts must be paid and we don't care how, by cash or by other means. That is just the way that it has to be. No one else's ass is on the line.

Just mine.

This it must be noted, was written several days ago. My mood, while not greatly improved, is a little better. My ex-room mate was here long enough to screw up my front door lock. I really can't leave until that is repaired. That may well be a few days, the ways some stuff works around here.

Actually, until the weather improves somewhat, there isn't really a great deal to get excited about outside of here. So back to my bad habits and communicating with my dealers, creditors, fellow junkies and addicts.

All that in the hopes that this freak show we are all living, somehow all returns to normal.

At what cost...

I do often wonder how much the poison pumped into my viens really does cost. On one hand, there is this head strong headed creature who has put no value on her morals or appearrance.

 Her head between between some strangers legs has huge issues for me. So if also holds that if I benefit from her lack of scrupples, I too have no scrupples myself.

Prove me wrong.

Those who know me also know that is not the case. As a matter of fact though. That same sad junkie would rather suck a strangers cock than mess with mine.

That hurts even more...

The never ending excuse is that we need the money. The fact she  needs the money and whatever else is derived from those "client" appointments.

It's time we both went out own ways and looked out for our own interests. I suspect the accounts are way out of balance. The truth in that soon will show.

That shit ends tonight.

A Different Twist...

The twist is in and of itself, par for the course.

I have been messing around on other social media platforms. Instagram in particular, has been a place where expressing oneself visually has proven to be a positive outlet for myself. It has been so successful, that my anonymity has all but disappeared.

Over a period of time, a few of the photos that I did manage to snap did attract the eye of some who possessed, either by nature or training  the quality that collectors desired. Regardless, those pics did catch some eyes. This has created a situation that brings me to this point.

A local gallery owner thought enough of my"work" to approach me about showing those pictures. I did discuss how the look in those photos was achieved. He did say that I should be honest in how that look was arrived...

I fucked around with the settings, until I was was happy with the results. In a nutshell, until the photograph resembled what my eye actually saw.

Soon, probably a little bit later this week, if not today, details of this "showing" will be revealed by the gallery owner. With that said, I shall let him do his work.

At the very least, my hope is that these pictures will help to color my world for the eyes of others.

AS OF LATE

Life really sucks...

Things have really gone downhill in many respects. Using is on the increase for me. The type of drugs I've been tinkering with have seriously gotten stronger as well.

Finances are sketchy and additional credit has not been helpful in any respect. Well it has allowed me to use more drugs.


Overdoses have been way too frequent. Friends have been avoiding me and I really can't blame them.
Who wants to get too close to someone who may be gone tomorrow.

Psychotic episodes have been increasing. Bizzare behavior has become a constant. Depression is on the upswing and isolating, while aided by my behavior, has been a practice of choice.

Winter is a season I dread and this one has been one of the worst. A fire only adds to the PTSD that is part and parcel of my life. I've been told that choices must be made.

The thing is though, I'm not sure I have that ability any longer. Asking for help is admitting defeat.

Besides, I'm not sure I really know how to ask for help.