Suicide At The Wishing Well

Sleep actually came pretty easily after a rude awakening last night. I’m guessing the demerol had something to do with it, but I slept and I wasn’t in pain so I’ll take what I can get. I struggled with whether or not to take the meds, but ultimately my desire for a pain-free night won out. I had overdone it yesterday with a trip in to the city to see my doc. Today, though, I’m sticking to Advil. I just flushed the rest of the demerol. I don’t trust myself.

Sitting on the deck now trying to finish an assignment for work. Slightly distracted by the sun. Haven’t seen much of it lately. I’d love to go for a walk but I’m not quite up to that just yet. Still, it’s nice to be outside for a bit.

I have to go to a wake tonight. An alkie, like me. We smoked our first joint together sitting on the rail road tracks behind our Junior High when we were 12. I also smoked my last joint with him at age 25, sitting in some girl’s apartment, tripping out of my mind because the joint was laced with some hallucinogen or another. Worst experience of my life. I was paranoid for days.

I haven’t seen Tommy in 2 years. He had moved out of state. We were both clean and happier for it. We had made plans to see each other next month at our 20th high school reunion. Instead he overdosed on a speedball and I’m struggling to move beyond my damn living room on a daily basis. It’s more an existential struggle than a physical one, to be honest. But there’s little distinction to be made when the outcome remains the same, no?

Anyway. If I thought I was up for leaving the house twice today, I’d go find a meeting. I could use a meeting right now. Guess I’ll settle for finishing my work and then purging my thoughts onto the blank page before me.

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