Once you accept the 'Life as a cosmic joke' theory, things become a lot easier to understand. (And therein lies a problem - have you just accepted this theory to make your life easier? A sort of modern Christianity, without all the nailings and only a couple of mystical rituals, easily remembered).
Anyway, it helped me make sense of comments like : "You're so arrogant, Flex."
Arrogant. Could they not see the joke? How can someone who turns to a bucket of slops if he doesn't raise the finances for his next shot, which is always less than four hours away. Using so much I really knocked that eight hour half-life on the head. My body had become supremely efficient at processing diacetyl morphine molecules. In fact, I was pretty much a one-job factory. I took diacetyl morphine, broke it down to morphine, codeine, a few thousand other non-worthy opiates, then excreted them after further processing.
I took in sugar based substances to fuel the factory. I survived on a litre of iced coffee, three slices of mudcake and four Mars Bars a day for around three years. And gained no weight. It's easy to think in retrospect that I was hovering outside of real life. That beyond a certain amount of gear use, you put yourself in a slightly different realm, where calories and careers are pure concept-stuff, not harsh reality.
I had two friends who had managed to get themselves off solids altogether - a feat I never achieved. They would each drink around four litres a day of the cheapest possible fizzy soft drinks. Their flat was littered with a combination of empty bottles and the tiny tiny knots of quarterweight and halfweight bags.
They had me beat hands down in terms of processing efficiency. Imagine, a purely liquid based diet, not for a day, or even a week, but years. I like to tell myself, my little conceit, that I was handling a larger volume of gear, and that was what necessitated the odd solid intake, so I satisfied myself that what I lost in quality I regained in quantity.
(You have to have your little conceits, even in the midst of living for nothing but the next shot. More of that same joke I guess.)
It got so that when people called me arrogant I did not try to correct them. There are none so blind as those that cannot see, and at times it seemed I was the one-eyed king.
I can't sustain myself purely on liquids anymore. But maybe that's because my use is so low. Several days since the last shot. In geographical terms, those few days are so like a desert stretching between me and gear, there's really no mentionable difference. And the thought of going through a full day of work tomorrow before S gets paid and I can score again, if that is what I am choosing to do, is almost unbearable.
Give me a fast forward button.
Sunset Rubdown - Shut Up I Am Dreaming. Black box Recorder -Child Psychology.
Day Three, again. Liquid on the insides, but metro dregs keep my head monsters at bay.
Crap sci-fi. Watched most of East of Eden last night. J Dean, perhaps the original slouching mumbler? Dollhouse S2 - Joss Whedon masterworks, it is getting quite good.
Alice Munro short stories. Our Chekhov they say, but, well, she is good.
Hard to maintain my temper sans opiates. Fools to the left of me at work it feels and I struggle to quell my tame my tongue..
Pearl barley risottos at midnight last night. Pizza the night b4. At least I can cook...?.
Not since Saturday's big $25 shot. Long time no gabo it feels.