08.30.03 ""Is there anything more beautiful than a beautiful, beautiful flamingo, flying across in front of a beautiful sunset? And he's carrying a beautiful rose in his beak, and also he's carrying a very beautiful painting with his feet. And also, you're drunk." - Jack Handey Ughhh. Too many things put into my sensitive stomach last night. As we sat around Tim & Michelle�s apartment, I focused on maintaining. (And by maintaining, I mean not puking or passing out.) I found that if you are angry, it helps out with your concentration. My boss left out early at about 1 pm, and I quickly followed at the suggestion of some random person in my department. I came home, stripped down to the skivvies, put on totally awesome �sleep� CD** I made, and proceeded to clean everything that would stand still. To me, cleaning my house is therapeutic. The smells, the actions, the feeling of bareness. I hate clutter, and therefore you will find none in this house of mine. My prescription hasn�t arrived yet, and so I hesitated for a second � standing in the hallway, holding that last little blue pill in my palm. I reasoned that surely the script would arrive in the mail on Saturday... surely. And so down it went into an empty stomach. When BF finally came home (soaking wet from the rain that had mysteriously started and gone unnoticed as I obsessively cleaned my bathroom), I convinced him to take me to Zaxby�s. I have this strange thing lately about forgetting to eat. I only seem to notice because of the �medications� that I consume, and how they react violently to a stomach without food. While we were in the drive-thru, Michelle called my cell, "We miss you guys, come over." (Six-pack of beer for BF on the way there) I found the mind for a couple of chicken fingers and a handful of fries before I was offered a pink pill from Tim. Thanks, I guess. They have taken to smoking out. I never really got into actually smoking pot because of the way that it made me feel. That�s why I was so good at making money off it, because I never seemed to smoke up my profit. The smell of it though, that�s what I like... the smell that reminds me of pictures I keep inside my head from the 'before time'. Tim also had OCs. ((That�s what Adam died from.)) BF took a whole one and then split one with Tim, purposely avoiding eye contact with me the entire night. We have talked about this so many times, how those things hold a sacred place in time � how, because of Adam, we would never touch those things again. Ah, but how can one resist escape? I am not one to cast judgment, I guess. Then here comes their neighbor, Jake. He is completely excited about something � he shows off his t-shirt, he offers up some kind for smoking. I concentrate heavily on the TV, which is silent. It�s the way that I don�t even care about what is going on in the room around me. It�s all about concentration. My head hurts. Tim offers another pink pill for my headache. Michelle is stoned. Giggly. She is scratching all over from the pills. She offers me a large white one. I am already �unsteady� and feeling the need for a soft pillow, and so I take it from her and quietly hide it in the folds of my pants... BF calls me out. I am instantly feeling like a total asshole � "She hoards them! You should see how she hoards all kinds of pills in bottles in the sock drawer! Hahaha!" Fucker. Well, if you�re not going to eat it, I will. (That�s Tim) "She�ll just add it to her collection!" BF has called me out in front of our friends, I now feel obligated to swallow the thing that will eventually have me heaving over the toilet by night�s end. I am totally filled with a new concentration. Hate. I am hating BF, for calling me out. I am hating him for taking OCs. I am hating the new feel to the room. But I am a hoarder. Hahaha. By the time we left, I was good & angry... BF can be such a fucking cock. He likes to do shit like that in front of our friends cause he thinks it is so FUNNY. Yeah, this shit happens far too often. And then later he will claim that he was kidding around. Fucker. When we got home, he immediately passed out naked on the bed. I watched him � his breathing � I even checked his pulse once. OCs scare me so much, flashes of Adam, flashes of LJ, dead & dying. I put on my �sleep� CD again and tried to make sense of Photoshop through the haze of too many pills. Instead, I made a list of things that I wanted to do today, projects. But this morning the writing doesn�t make much sense or seem that important. Maybe tomorrow. **These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall... This is the mystery of the quotient, Upon us all a little rain must fall. � The Rain Song |
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