Monthly Archives: December 2008

HERE

So, this is what this is.
A neverending purgatory or limbo.
I don’t want to acknowledge that this time exists. I just want it… not to be what it was… but a different version of what it was. The thing that I remember.
I don’t know what this is.
I just know that it’s a dull ache. I don’t like it.
Sometimes one forgets because it’s so dull.
This is why I drive to the bright though dark rich maroon of my own blood; this why I stare as the needle pierces the skin… then the basilic vein.
I need color, vibrancy… I need something.
God, this sounds like every 15 year old cutter’s manifesto.
But 15 was eight thousand years ago. And cut I do not. And I like things. And not just things that categorically “hurt”.
I like to smile. I have a brilliant smile. dimples and all.
and it’s almost 2009. It’s actually 2009 in New York. On 23rd Street.
My hair is different.
Please just calm any buzzing in any brain right now. and just try to absorb. and be cool.
I like odd numbers. 9, though curvy is odd.
I guess it just depends how you write it.
Happy New Year!

 

your lovely author here…

donates her blood plasma. Drives to Van Nuys to do so.

…for all the wrong reasons.

I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And it was okay. Really. Fine. Lovely.

but this, categorically indicates that I’m weird. Off.

I romanticize medicine. medical terminology and understanding. the needle. my flesh. my blood. the centrifuge. and a funny drowsy-ness that might feel like being high.

One drives up there because they think that they will be surrounded by others who would like to donate for the good of humankind. sick people. But it’s a crack shack really. People who refuse to make money any other way.

Another lovely crack shack. A generic ghetto version of Cheers. Everyone knows your name. I’m the new kid. And in the generic ghetto, it usually works for me [but that's another story].

But getting back to the point… what’s  worse? What is really worse?

Wanting to intently stare at the large, possibly 9 gauge butterfly needle [syringes are like guns, the lower the gauge, the larger the barrel] pierce your skin and hit your vein. Dark, dark blood (“everyone’s blood is different, but yes your blood is darker then normal” I am assured)… floods the clear tubing and up up up.

Complete certainty. Validation. Everything is right. And the blood is so dark. I feel so much more rich and human. Than anyone in that room. Anyone anywhere. My blood is naturally that dark. That substantial. Naturally.

So, what’s worse?

It’s merely stupid to drive to the valley for 5 hours of prodding and poking and questions if all you’re expecting is $35 in return. And maybe, possibly a generic ghetto Cheers-like atmosphere.

It’s something weird and fucked up to drive to the valley to put up with the prodding and questions when you are expecting the poking in return.

 

Now what?

Well, I don’t really remember.

Nothing spectacular I’d assume.

I don’t trust, nor do I really like this pharmacopeia.

Not true. I just haven’t learned to manage it, I suppose. I like the comfort of it’s name. Of having it. I don’t particularly need it. But I have it. Doesn’t matter, I don’t know how to use it to my optimal benefit.

I don’t have to manage it, at all, actually. I can just… stop.

I was somewhere… in the dentist’s chair inhaling nitrous a few days ago. It wasn’t the same. I wrote, “Don’t be so obsessed with getting high” on my hand as I my eyes peered left… then back skyward… then shot left toward the tank. It’s N2O, of course, but it’s O2, too. Two balls in two distinct cylinders float on a puff of air. I’d say a ratio of 3/4 to 1/4. Still…

I felt my body. I remember, in the last instance not… feeling my extremities. Something was wrong… different. I didn’t like it. That’s all.

I remember last time. Last time was different. Last time was in Rosedale. Last time, I took the tongue ring out before anyone would see it was there. Because last time I cared about things of this degree. Last time I took the A train into Queens and walked to the bus stop and got lost, because that’s what I do. Last time I probably weighed around… well, numbers don’t really… anyway. I probably already couldn’t feel my extremities anyway. So, last time, in a blind study… a study in general… wouldn’t be so blind. so..

Desperation causes all sorts of things to go awry. And it occures to me that I may have been trying to obtain a high to prove that I am still the same.

I am not.

I understand what I thought at the time that I thought it. And I understand what I thought then, now.

But I didn’t understand the aforementioned.

I will continue to go out of my way to prove that I am the same. and time and time again fail.

 

Clinical Trial [part #1] followup

so, yes… i drank less than half of the Lasorda red wine.

I mean, what the fuck? Of course. I am drowsy as expected. So, I swallow one half a superb peach long-release Dexedrine.

Time line… lets say, an hour later. still drowsy… not in a euphoric alcohol way. In a narcotic non-euphoric red fuckin’ wine way.

Lovely pill crusher. 1/4 of a Dexedrine… insufflate with a dollar bill.

Now what?

I feel the same. I am not hungry. I cannot drink anymore of this vile concoction.

So, now what?

 

Clinical Trial [part #1]

Friday, 26 Dec 2008

6:34am PST: I wake up at this absurdly early hour. I look at the clock… notice that it is absurdly early. Decide in my groggy state that the world is not worth my dreams and fall back asleep.

8:15am PST: Again, absurdly early, I wake. I look at the clock and wonder why it’s medically impossible for me to sleep for an undisturbed period of a week. I check my computer to see if my season #2 of House is finished downloading itself. And see that it’s not. boo! What else to do but sleep.

1:30pm PST: Wake. Now, it’s a bit late. But college students do it all the time. I, however, am no longer in college. It’s okay and not okay. It really doesn’t matter. It is what it is.

On the bright side, two sequential episodes have successfully downloaded.

I watch Episode #203.

2:10pm PST: I am at a loss for what to do. It’s a good show and makes the juices flow. In my brain. Damaged or not. I won’t say that I like it. I’m just saying, I might like it, sometimes. Maybe.

I have red wine that sits next to my tall mini-fridge. Red wine will make me sleepy. And all those sulfates. $40 bottle Lasorda wine gift or not, it doesn’t seem like a good high at all. So, now, I think it’s the appropriate time to formally introduce to you my pharmacopeia. I have Vicodin in dwindling supply, Vicodin always makes me want to puke. This is useful had I eaten alot of food. But I have not. Then there is the Dexedrine, which, in it’s spanule carnation, works very similarly to Adderall. Which is great! Seriously. Much cleaner high. But I have to wait. Then, there’s Adderall, Dexedrine but dirty. Like an STD infested hooker, instead of an escort service. But still, you’d have to wait. Then, there is Klonopin, which I’ve, as of recent, been popping like chalky little Neco wafers. Usually in conjuction with Vicodin and always at night.

So, now what? I take the Ibuprophen 800, because I need something to pop. Hmm, there’s also Amoxicillin. Wrongly prescribed. And I bet generally innocuous. But fuck it. I’m not a fan of future antibiotic resistant infection because I felt the need to pop something.

2:33pm PST: I think it might be time for a shower.

 

2009

Jumpin’ the gun here. A bit trigger-happy or anticipatory… I must now state that I much prefer odd years to even years.

There are reasons for this both rationally experiential and irrational. I prefer the latter. But I don’t have the capacity to pull it out of my brain right now; and barring a random drunken night, possibly  ever.

Brain damage is a bitch.

 

DVD’s revisited…

So, that DVD post somehow turned into a self-esteem sexual assault post. I’m sorry.

The 23rd and 24th were a combo of nitrous, vicodin, alcohol, dexedrine, klonopin, possibly a quarter a snort of adderall somewhere in the mix… so, this sounds like alot of stuff. Though it really isn’t. small, rationed portions of all, dexedrine, time-released… spanule… what the fuck is a ‘spanule’?… time release this!

anyway

Everything prescribed. Everything, barring the N2O [dental procedure] and alcohol, in pill form.

PILLS! Man, I hate pills. I’m sorry. I love drugs, speed. And yes, I’d rather have the pills [I would never say I hate pills if I didn't have the luxury of procuring them.], but…

But why pills? Pills are a more mature form of a high. One can’t abuse pills in the way one needs to abuse. Unless it’s, say dilaudid… and i don’t even need a rig and a spoon. Though it would help.

Not the point, not the point. The point being, that’s how the DVD post went awry.

Thank you, drive thru. Happy Christmeth.

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