foreshadowing... dun dun DUNNNNN

I finally have something interesting to write about, but I guess I gotta go in order...

Okay, so I've been staying with Greggie and his ex-wife at their house since leaving where I was, and what a relief it's been. He is almost done building the apartment attached to the house (used to be their laundry room, living room, and bathroom) and I helped by painting a bunch of wooden for-rent signs which we then put on stakes and put up around his neighborhood. [side note- I had just finished reading Salem's Lot by Stephen King and it entertained me walking around with all them wooden stakes, hah] They are good signs, really professional-looking, so people are either stealing them, stapling their signs right on top, or piggybacking. There was the same for-rent sign in front of 4 of Greg's signs which got him frustrated. The first one he left alone, the second one he moved a little bit, the third and fourth ones he just took because they are obviously inconsiderate assholes.

Later, my dad took me to the doctor because I haven't been sleeping good since quitting the h and wanted a prescription, and also I wanted a pregnancy test done by a doc. The test came up positive (just as I suspected) so he wouldn't write me any scrips for sleeping pills, telling me that the only safe thing to take is diphenhydramine (benadryl, unisom, sominex, etc) which is gay because it only works for 2 nights in a row. At least I'm not dopesick at night anymore- benadryl when I'm dopesick just makes me toss and turn. I asked him for a piece of paper stating the results of the preg test so I could show Greg, and gave me a page from his scrip book (signed and everything) that just said "Michelle is pregnant!" I'm trying to figure out a way to post that on here- but hell, I'm on a library computer and therefore have no scanner. Greg has a digital camera though, so new pics will be coming soon. I know I'm gonna need a pic to prove what happened next (not that I have to prove anything to the haters, it'll just be more fun that way, ya know?)

So the next day (Saturday), Greg and his ex had a yard sale and then all 3 of us went to Golden Corall for lunch with the money they made. Later that night I was kind of schizing out and my head was going a mile a minute, so I decided to go for a walk in the rain even though it was getting dark out and I was wearing jeans and a dark blue coat (foreshadowing... dun dun DUNNNNN). I walked north all the way to [the next major street] and back in the rain, which was a long walk and by the time I got back to the neighborhood I was dog-tired and my feet hurt so I wasn't really paying attention to where I was walking. So I'm tired, achy, half-crazy (drug cravings that I refuse to give into, mostly), walking in the road, wearing dark clothes, at night, in the rain. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next.

WHAP! Got hit by a car and knocked into the grass. A car and a truck immediately pulled over and asked if I was ok, and did I want an ambulance. I was a block away from Greg's house and didn't think I was too badly hurt, so I said no and walked the rest of the way back. When I got there, Greg helped me take the coat off and I seen a huge hard lump sticking out of my elbow. I touched it, and for the first time realized that I might be hurt for real. My whole left side was throbbing, especially my elbow and shoulder, and my right knee was burning because that's what I landed on when I fell. Still, it took Greg half an hour to talk me into going to the emergency room.

A note about ERs- I fucking hate them with a passion. I know a lot of junkies hit ERs claiming severe pain just to get pills, but that's just not my style. If I want drugs, I don't have to fill out a bunch of paperwork, wait for hours, and tell a bunch of lies- I simply make a phone call and get what I want quickly. But whenever I have to go to an ER, the docs/nurses just look at my tracks and assume I'm trying to pull a scam. I hate that. But my arm was really starting to smart, so I let 'em take me. I sat in that stupid hospital from 830pm to almost 4am, what with taking x-rays and waiting for them to come back. Everyone there (as usual) thought I was bullshitting to get some narcotics, and they wouldn't let me go out and smoke, plus my arm really did hurt, and I was there forever, and the tv volume didn't work, and I was hungry and thirsty. Obviously I was getting increasingly pissed off as time went by. The x-rays were torture because they were yanking my hurt arm every which way and were reluctant to give me painkillers because a) I told them I was pregnant, and b) they still thought I was full of shit.

I was almost relieved when the doc came back and told me that I had a "left compound radial head fracture", which is medical-school lingo for my elbow was broken in two places. The hard lump I seen sticking out wasn't just swollen, it was the bone almost puncturing the skin. I started getting a little more respect after that because they seen that I wasn't just wasting their time trying to get drugs- I also got percocet without even having to ask. Then they put a big ugly cast on me, and a sling which took 3 people and 30 minutes to puzzle out. I hate hospitals, yes I do. In addition to the busted elbow, I have a sprained shoulder, bruised ribs, a bruised knee (the right knee, while everything else hurt is on the left side), sprained knuckles, a hyper-extended ligament, and mild whiplash. Tons of fun, right? You know how hard it is to type with my left hand all swole up like a balloon? I put all my rings on my right hand cause they don't fit my left fingers at the moment- super gay. Well, at least they found out I wasn't bullshitting. Also I don't have a long history of ER visits where I'm complaining of pain- really the only times I've gone to emergency rooms is when I've overdosed or had a real bad seizure that I can't come out of, or when I actually WANT to get committed to the mental hospital (it's happened). This cast is a big pain in the ass, but I'm sposed to make an appointment with an "orthopedic specialist" to get this fiberglass cast off (and I guess a different cast on?) which my dad said he would pay for. He also payed for my percocets, which I am NOT abusing. I got a scrip for 15 5mg pills on Sunday morning (the sun was almost up when I left that stoopid ER) and have only taken 2 of 'em. I'm really trying as hard as I can to stay clean- hell I'm not even smoking pot or drinking right now. Crazy but true.

That's really it for now- I officially have over a month off heroin, although I stopped counting the days cause I'm not an AA/NA faggot. I can't say a month "clean" because I did use coke and 'done and weed and other shit over the past month, but definitely a month off the boy. Hooray for Shelley! And I know what the responses will be- "you're not clean, you're full of crap, I know you're not using, blah blah blah." As Yoda would say, you matter not. What matters is that I'm no longer a slave to the spike, and even though my craving sometimes kick my ass across the room and back I don't make the phone call to get any shit. If Micheal and Shane could quit heroin, hell- so can I.

$$REPLIES$$

dumbass- I'm not, and I don't care what you think. Thanks for signing your name at the bottom, I wasn't sure who you were but now I know that you're a dumbass!

anon 1- Yeah, I have tons of fun.

chris- I know it- I just needed to get high on something and didn't want to use heroin.

anon 2- See above for the answer to your question. I didn't know you knew my stepmom- she hasn't posted on here and in fact doesn't like to read me because I talk about drugs too much. It's amazing how much you "know".

lori- Make fun of yourself before others can, that's my philosophy.

victoria- I will if I have enough interent time left after this update, k?

anon 3/greg- I can always tell which posts are yours- you don't have to put your name or nothing!

bill- Guys my own age are immature assholes- I like older men and that's not even a rare thing for girls in their 20s, especially here in sunny South Florida. Kimmy Dixon was a close friend, so please don't talk shit about her. Talk shit about me all you want, but the dead can't defend themselves and it's just plain fucking mean, ok? I don't have fake tits- mine are all natural although they grew from a B-cup to a large C-cup since getting pregnant. Who says prostitution is a job that doesn't help others? There are many worse things you can do to a person than give them an orgasm. Palm Beach County is pretty crappy, I'll agree with you on that- cesspool is the perfect term too. Props!

heatherrreloise- Thanks, that gives me warm fuzzies.

skillz- I wasn't trying to get wasted, just wanted my head to shut up for a second so I didn't "think big". When I was shooting I usually did 1 or 2 bags at once, 3 when I was feeling particularly self-destructive (although 3 bags of what I get tends to make me barf and then pass out, which is dumb cause I'd rather enjoy my high). I think it's hilarious that people that hate me read every single thing I write just to spew venom- if I find a blog I don't like, I avoid it. But, some people have even less of a life than I do!

anon 4- Not fake humor, but real life trashy!

anon 5- Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

lori- You're in AA or NA, aren't you? I'm just guessing that by the way you write... could be wrong though.

anon 6- ...

coke addiction kinda sucks- It's easier than I thought it would be, but that's about all I can say.

taxitalk- Enjoy!

All right, my arm is screaming bloody murder so I'm done typing. Glad I got to update though- ouchies!