part of real life

Went to visit Micheal at his workplace. He wanted to get high, I wanted to get high, he knew I shouldn't get high, I knew he shouldn't get high, we went back and forth like this for hours until his break ended. Speaking of workplaces, I got a Job to do tonight. I need money to buy more pot anyway. I don't know what's up with me and the marijuana lately, I guess I'm trying to find something that will replace smack somehow in my daily life. But to be honest, it's not a very good substitution. A very shitty one if you ask me. But it's what I got, so it's what I do. I've never been really picky about my mind-altering substances. Whatever is placed in my line of sight is what I'm using at that particular moment. In NA, they call people like me "garbage heads." Crackhead and pothead are too specific, garbage head implies that I will put any substance into my body rather than experience a second of real life. Actually, that's garbage. Heroin is part of real life. When I push the plunger down and close my eyes, that's real enough for me. And so is the sickness. Honestly, I thought I'd be much sicker by now than I am. Bored out of my skin, but not sick. Might have to do with the fact that I've stayed fucked up pretty much non-stop since I pulled the last needle out of my arm. Pills, weed, patches, you name it. The Client who has requested my services tonight knows where to get hammer. I might break down and ask him about it. In fact if I don't, I will be completely amazed at myself. Maybe he won't even call back. Maybe he'll have some and I won't even want any. Maybe I'll bend over and a monkey will climb out of my ass.

the count: 0
others: pot, methadone, vistaril, benadryl, xanax, fentanyl, clonidine, Cisco
street money: $100
in the hole: $150