08.11.03
You see nothing here on diaryland is much of a secret. Once you put it out there on the World Wide Web with a little http in front, it officially becomes public business.
I awoke this morning well after I was supposed to be at work. I groggily called my boss to explain that I was �sick�. (I know I get paid for sick days, but what about mental health days?) I don�t really know.
On Monday afternoon, I was emptying out my dresser drawers for the reason of applying black paint to all my bedroom furniture� there at the bottom of tank tops & pajama pants, bottom drawer, wrapped neatly in an sari-type scarf, was a small bottle of Aleve � (haha, on the copyright). Aleve? I wondered. Excuse the AOL slang but WTF? I laid it on the mantle, and continued with my drawer emptying.
I started painting, my furniture, my bathroom, & some other stuff around the house (anything that would stand still) and looked again at that bottle on my mantle. Being the OCD�d, neat freak that I am, I decided that they needed to be put back into the medicine cabinet. But OH! There in the medicine cabinet is another bottle of Aleve. Funny. I popped open the newly found bottle to find something other than headache medicine.
It was completely full of little blue "football" Xanaxes. Duh! I am such a stasher! (Insert comment about how �only users lose drugs�) It�s just like me to stash shit around the house & then forget about it.
And so my week went.
The thing about Xanaxes is that they give you the feeling that everything is OKAY. Life is fucking golden. Nothing in the world can be wrong. They also give you the feeling that you are not fucked up enough, and so you continue to eat them until you pass out. Then you start being late to work & burning food on the stove & taking late night self-portraits
& losing your burning cigarette & getting paint all over everything.
And so I sit, at home, on a Monday morning. Wasting my day because I popped another with my morning coffee. Wondering when these will run out.
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Bo came over Saturday. He was released from rehab for the weekend so that he could get his life ready for when he gets OFFICIALLY released this Friday. I helped him get into his new apartment � gave him old curtains & tapestries to hang. I am really proud of him, as he didn�t once mention getting high. Maybe it was just the fact that he was around me & knows that he shouldn�t mention that shit in my presence.
I will be really happy when he is home, I have missed him � he was in jail from last August until December and then in rehab since January. {{Confinement}} His parents have been super-cool about the whole thing because they have agreed to pay his rent & tuition as long as he stays clean. Not to mention that they are the reason that he spent 6 months in rehab as opposed to five years in jail. Plus, they are the ones that paid the 6 grand a month for the rehab � and the 30 grand for his lawyer & court fees.
They are quite wealthy, I guess.
GEEZ, must be nice.
I love the excitement of moving into a new place. I love to paint & decorate. To learn new streets, to look out new windows in the morning. I guess that�s what inspired all my painting this week � CHANGE. If something doesn�t change every once in a while, I get uncomfortable.
Kind of like this diary.
I need a change. I feel as if I have fallen into a routine, not saying what I am thinking, not writing what I really want to. It�s hard � I don�t want to be one of "those diaries" that reminds myself of what a wreck my life has been. I always want to be happy and interesting and beautiful. Or maybe that�s what I want everything else to be.
I asked Bo about his psuedo-girlfriend Lexie, and I questioned him endlessly about whether or not he thought he was �rehabilitated� or what, Cause I know the way that he is about resistance. I asked him if he thought he had learned anything.
Turns out that Lexie is pregnant by some other dude who is 12 years her senior and she actually asked Bo to act as the father. She does more dope than anyone, and always runs to him for help. I told him that the last thing he needed was a crackhead girlfriend with an one-night stand baby to take care of. What�s her fucking problem?
All he had to say was to quote a Grateful Dead lyric (as usual) � "there�s a hole in the heart that only love can fill"...