I'm getting emotional again right now. If I had some crystal meth I'd shoot it. Sometimes I want the old days back, not the chaos, but the highs. I don't mind getting older as long as I look hot and with this weight, that certainly isn't the case anymore. I looked soo good when I was 42, only 2 years ago damn it and Weight Watchers takes fucking forever to lose weight. I did a no no. I read my boy's blog and felt sorry for him and thought about sending him some speed to help him, help myself too for that matter! As far as your weight gain goes, baby boy, it's not age thats doing it, it's the methadone, you know. As you know, I worked in 3 different methadone clinics for about 18 months and just about everyone that wasn't on crystal meth got fat. I read the insert on it, methadone has these weird side effects like twitching and it causes weird dreams and weight gain, so it's not you at all. As soon as you get off of that you'll see what I mean.
Of course you'll be tempted to go back to smack, but my friend Aimee has the right idea. She would quit smack if she got enough Rx dope to hold her, but truthfully, though I love Aimee, there will never be enough dope for Aimee because more is never enough. During the sad times I've thought about how blissful it would be to just go blast off with her, though that really wouldn't be necessary seeing as how I have my own Rx of dope if I really want it, but the fact is what I really want is speed. If I could get a hold of someone to hypnotise me, bring me back to the feeling that I had after shooting up, I would hold onto it and get my creativity back! At least I could fucking write again. I won the Song of the Year award with my story/poem The Magical Mist of Fairlyland. They offered to promote but ever since I got clean I've been fucked with this cocksucking writer's block.
I'm not happy at all. I want my beauty back. I want my talent back. I didn't get clean for this crap. Fuck. Yeah I'm frustrated. To top it off, this movie Jackie Brown came on. It reminded me of the time I worked as a extra in movies, and I was scheduled to be an extra in that movie, plus I could have met my brother Quentin Tarantino. He refused to talk to me before, or any of the Tarantino family, but the day I was to go, my car took a shit and I didn't have the money for cab fare. Mom told me it's just as well because I didn't have my ducks in a row at the time. She's right as usual, then I got to thinking about my birth father, my half siblings, my brother's bitch wife that won't let me talk to my brother or have my sister's address/phone number. Erik, at least your dad is willing to talk to you and help you. Mom told me I should sue Tony for 18 years of back child support he never paid, but I'm not that kind of person, never have been. If anyone deserves it, it is my Mom for putting up with all the aggravation.
Can't you take some valium or percocets and see your dad, it would make your visit less awkward, just don't take more than 2 pills max, or you'll regret it slurrin your words, noddin out, lol. I've done that more times than I care to remember in the past. So that's it I guess. I'm in an awkward stage where I don't fit the stoned world and my minds not in the sober one. I lost the pink cloud I fell off of after the first year of sobriety and it hurts, though I still go to 1 or 2 NA meetings a week and try to encourage newcomers. If I don't stay clean I'll blow off my responsibilities and I can go back to not giving a rat's ass about the pain Tony the phony and his brood caused me, so where to go, but God I guess.
Of course you'll be tempted to go back to smack, but my friend Aimee has the right idea. She would quit smack if she got enough Rx dope to hold her, but truthfully, though I love Aimee, there will never be enough dope for Aimee because more is never enough. During the sad times I've thought about how blissful it would be to just go blast off with her, though that really wouldn't be necessary seeing as how I have my own Rx of dope if I really want it, but the fact is what I really want is speed. If I could get a hold of someone to hypnotise me, bring me back to the feeling that I had after shooting up, I would hold onto it and get my creativity back! At least I could fucking write again. I won the Song of the Year award with my story/poem The Magical Mist of Fairlyland. They offered to promote but ever since I got clean I've been fucked with this cocksucking writer's block.
I'm not happy at all. I want my beauty back. I want my talent back. I didn't get clean for this crap. Fuck. Yeah I'm frustrated. To top it off, this movie Jackie Brown came on. It reminded me of the time I worked as a extra in movies, and I was scheduled to be an extra in that movie, plus I could have met my brother Quentin Tarantino. He refused to talk to me before, or any of the Tarantino family, but the day I was to go, my car took a shit and I didn't have the money for cab fare. Mom told me it's just as well because I didn't have my ducks in a row at the time. She's right as usual, then I got to thinking about my birth father, my half siblings, my brother's bitch wife that won't let me talk to my brother or have my sister's address/phone number. Erik, at least your dad is willing to talk to you and help you. Mom told me I should sue Tony for 18 years of back child support he never paid, but I'm not that kind of person, never have been. If anyone deserves it, it is my Mom for putting up with all the aggravation.
Can't you take some valium or percocets and see your dad, it would make your visit less awkward, just don't take more than 2 pills max, or you'll regret it slurrin your words, noddin out, lol. I've done that more times than I care to remember in the past. So that's it I guess. I'm in an awkward stage where I don't fit the stoned world and my minds not in the sober one. I lost the pink cloud I fell off of after the first year of sobriety and it hurts, though I still go to 1 or 2 NA meetings a week and try to encourage newcomers. If I don't stay clean I'll blow off my responsibilities and I can go back to not giving a rat's ass about the pain Tony the phony and his brood caused me, so where to go, but God I guess.
