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.