Wil loves what he does, but the question 'What do you do?'epitomises inane conversation that is just a social routine when he enters the world of the 'straight'.
Will have been doing drugs on and off for a 20 years or so. He doesn't sell, doesn't steal to support his habit and is a functioning successful member of the community.
On the contrary he is proud of what he does and his business contributes and positively impacts on the community.
But he is always seeking something more. The 9-5 grind, buying a house and paying it off so that when he dies his children can have doesn't appeal.
Marriage, an institution fabricated by the factions that dictate social etiquette, didn't suit-to be with a partner for the sake of it. People change.
But he can't picture a life without drugs.
The weekend BBQ at some estate, 30km's from the city, having to 'mingle', socialise for the sake of it, having to answer and explain 'What he does', for the tenth time and even worse, asking it himself.
Longing to be 'off chops' escape the humdrum, the mundane, the normal.
Once you have been there, how can you go back.
It's killing him slowly, mentally, physically and financially.
Death by a thousand grams, lured continually like the proverbial moth to a flame.
He can stop and has, but what then? What's the same as the rush from coke? The feeling or warmth from smack? The complete euphoria from a double drop of the perfect flipper? The sense of industry from ice?
Base jumping? Car racing? Deep sea fishing? What everyday, week? Sure.
How can he go back? What is the norm?
What does he do?
Will have been doing drugs on and off for a 20 years or so. He doesn't sell, doesn't steal to support his habit and is a functioning successful member of the community.
On the contrary he is proud of what he does and his business contributes and positively impacts on the community.
But he is always seeking something more. The 9-5 grind, buying a house and paying it off so that when he dies his children can have doesn't appeal.
Marriage, an institution fabricated by the factions that dictate social etiquette, didn't suit-to be with a partner for the sake of it. People change.
But he can't picture a life without drugs.
The weekend BBQ at some estate, 30km's from the city, having to 'mingle', socialise for the sake of it, having to answer and explain 'What he does', for the tenth time and even worse, asking it himself.
Longing to be 'off chops' escape the humdrum, the mundane, the normal.
Once you have been there, how can you go back.
It's killing him slowly, mentally, physically and financially.
Death by a thousand grams, lured continually like the proverbial moth to a flame.
He can stop and has, but what then? What's the same as the rush from coke? The feeling or warmth from smack? The complete euphoria from a double drop of the perfect flipper? The sense of industry from ice?
Base jumping? Car racing? Deep sea fishing? What everyday, week? Sure.
How can he go back? What is the norm?
What does he do?