01.15.03 (Entry that leads up to the next 4) My speech went smashingly - apparently, I can be pretty funny. I ended up telling a story about something that happened to me back in high school, some trouble that my best friend and I got into during our sophomore year. But I left out a lot of parts, trying to make it all "PG" and everything... & No, I am not going to tell it here - the reason being that I have already worn this story completely OUT & I am sick of talking about it. DAMN!!! Leave me alone! But I might just tell another story - a long, long story - one that I like to call "My Summer Vacation - 1998" .... But I can't just tell that one and leave it at that. There is so much more to it all... I have to tell all the parts leading up to and following that summer. And I want to apologise in advance for anyone who reads this diary, cause the next few entries are going to simply serve as a record. A start. For me and for the book that I plan to maybe write one day about my life. BUT SERIOUSLY! I am doing this before I forget all the details. Shit, I have already forgotten soooo much already. I gotta get it all down somewhere before its gone. I wrote most of it down in a real paper journal, but I am afraid that it could be lost. I need a hard copy. And I guess I will begin with the beginning. (how appropriate) ----------------------------- Spring - The summer started early that year. In the month of February to be exact, right around the time when people flock to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, right around the time when I was about to turn 19 years old. Dude, I can honestly say that Mardi Gras 1998 set up the whacked out dominoes of fate in a such fucked up order that it has managed to stay on that crooked track until present day - here, now - Yes. And I promise not to say "Dude" anymore. I was living with my cousin in an upscale apartment complex and driving a semi-new car. But my apartment was covered in people day and night because everyone partied at my place. It was known to be the place to hang out & party. It was February, and I was doing lots of cocaine then... at least an eighth of an ounce if not more, every morning... then drinking whatever I could get my hands on at night until I passed the fuck out. And there I was, completely bored out of my brain with my 'mundane' life. I had been wanting & waiting to just leave everything for ANYTHING. At this point, any reason was good enough. So - long story short, one night under the influence of 15 hits of paper LSD, I decided to quit my part-time job, packed a change of clothes, and caravanned with some random people to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Not my finest moment, and not the most well thought out thing I have ever done... Upon returning home a week later, I found that my roommate (who was also my cousin) had changed all the locks on our apartment doors. Apparently she was tired of me & the company I kept and decided that my little vacation was reason enough to kick me out. My car had also been "repossessed" by my over-protective mother who at the time, owned the title to it. And my -stuff- had been laid carefully outside on the curb. How nice! Thanks for not breaking anything, bitch. I beat on the door for a half an hour but nothing happened. So I gathered up some of my clothes off the grass and started walking. Looking back, I wasn't as upset as I would have been now if the same senario had went down. But then again, I am not anything like I once was. And I guess that it wasn't really Mardi Gras that caused all that, now was it? Probably started WAAAAY before that little incident. Months of blatent drug abuse, wild parties, strange people, compounded by the fact that I hadn't paid rent in 3 months and I was selling large amounts of -substances- out of my bedroom to boot. Not to mention the harem of punk/raver boys that frequented (read: Lived in) my apartment from night to night... So being homeless and pretty strung out from being drunk for the past two weeks straight, I headed over to the Farm. (The Farm was a house belonging to some friends that was affectionatley called the Farm, because of the "gardening" activities that went on there). Mark, Alan, Ted, & Nick ** lived there & pretty much welcomed anyone (especially FEMALE anyone's) to stay for however long they needed... I stayed there until May. And it was fun... most of the time. There was always people there hanging out, getting fucked up. I started sleeping with Nick, & he was also sleeping with Helen ** (My best friend). Yeah, I didn't know at the time... But he was. Now, like several, several years later I realize a lot more than I could have ever been aware of then. I realize that he was also sleeping with several other girls... Including Tracey, who was another one of my very good friends. Then? I just didn't care to care. Nick was... I can't even believe it... He wasn't even THAT cute but he had pretty eyes. He was also very 'deep' and fun and charming and wonderful and I was infatuated. But the Nick tale makes for a whole OTHER story. So, during those few months at the Farm I did little to nothing. I dropped out of college & spent my days getting high (eating acid, ecstasy, prescription pills, drinking, smoking, etc...), hanging out with what I thought were the most intersesting people in the world, and sleeping with Nick. We would eat acid daily - sometimes splitting an entire VILE between the two of us. (Approximately 50 doses each) - We would be tripping for days on end... It was fun. I also started doing a lot more coke & some occasional crystal meth - Nick was my dealer, yeah and hell - I was my own dealer. Cause that's all I did. And I dropped about 20 pounds off of my already thin body. The rumor was that I was a junkie and it was true. I remember that when I wasn't fucked up, I wrote in my journal daily and started dreading my hair for lack of something better to do. I can't even recall much of that time. Or much of the next two years that were to follow. In May, Helen and I decided to hitchhike to California from Atlanta, GA. We got as far as Tucson, Arizona before we ran out of money and luck. We ended up crashing with some college students who went to the University of Arizona - some trust fund children - that we had met downtown... and we soon discovered that they (among other things) smoked crack... A whole fucking lot of crack... But, they said that they could help us get to San Diego and offered us a deal that we took eagerly. All we had to do was to deliver a special package to Long Island, New York. Who cared what was in that package - Can you say 1500 miles away? But the money offered was good and they GAVE us a fucking car to drive and we were set... That was how the Spring of 1998 bled into the Summer...
Spring 1998
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