More surprising than the amount of doe I’ve blown over the last week is the fact that I’ve made it through again to comment about proceedings here, at the sweet spot. This last bender was rough, aren’t they all, and I sit here teeming with disbelief regarding my own behaviour. Why doesn’t anything good happen when I’m sat at home? I received a financial package lifeline and spurned it in my dealer’s direction. It must have been the luckiest episode of his life. Thankfully I’ve just slept it off for over a whole day and manned up to face the public, perched here typing in the council lobby.
It’s nice to be away from whatever is lurking in my flat,
hissing away beneath the sink. I’ve considered torching the place and walking off
in to the sunset. With nothing but a sleeping bag, ciggies, and booze. How far
would I get?
My neighbours deserve bloodshed: Not for their opportune harassment, but for the terrible music they sometimes play.
With no wedge, I consider myself safe from myself for another couple of weeks. There’s no way I’m ingesting anything else cheap and nasty in the meantime. Hopefully I’ve ridden my system of recklessness for the time being. There’s also no way that state of living can be maintained without dollops of cash. It’s time to bite the bullet of sobriety, no matter how mundane it might be.
BacK sHorTly
