The next day Friday, and feeling fine. Three days this week have consisted of an additional work load. Instead of getting up around 8:30, working our average runs, or planned out calls, and calling it a day around 2, if not earlier, I'm waking up much closer to 6am. We then hit up that McDonald's across the street for coffee, and head out to start the day working for our next door neighbours business. He pays us 250$ to go pick up a load for him, and most often we will load his partners truck as well. Today for example was at a Mercedes dealership in Richmond. They have two Gaylord's full of the large rotors those vehicles tend to have, and there were also 8 aluminum mag wheels. The three of us must have loaded our truck in under a half an hour, and we left. That was about two and a half tons of steel, and a couple hundred pounds of aluminum wheels (generally the better quality, highest paying aluminum). Drove to the yard he prefers to do business with, unloaded, and were off to do our own work. It may have been a couple hours at the most, and the majority of that was driving. A pretty easy 250$, so when he offers us this additional work, it's usually really hard to pass up. As much as we do enjoy working 5 hours a day, 4 days a week, it's not too easy to say no to. However it's not often he'll want us two days a week, and this is the first he's ever needed us 3. Which my habits It's not uncommon for me to have trouble becoming unconscious, and staying so before 2am, so it's often that when I have to get up at 6 I only get 3 or 4 hours of half decent sleep. Which I'm totally okay with... For a night/day. If I have to get up that early the next day, I will be tired that morning, having only had 6-8 hours of sleep within a couple days. I will also be feeling pretty rough, if I haven't provided myself with a hit at around 10pm or later, the previous evening. My tolerance, and habit have slowly grasped control of me to once again require that attention, that I easily imagine to be too much. Unfortunately by the time Thursday had rolled around I had exhausted my selection of potential resources to generate the needed funds for that evening hit, expenses beyond my regular, minimum daily habit of 50$/day. "Two down, one soft" I say when I order it. Fortunately after yet another long day, arriving to the shop, only to be requested to work another early morning, both of us worn out, my father apparently "felt bad" about agreeing to another long day, and without hesitation whipped out a hundy when it came time to be payed. "Awesome" - "all my problems are solved". Although, it wasn't that simple, but I already explained the brief, concerning obstacle. I also asked that dealer if he would front me am extra piece till today, upon his agreement and delayed arrival, I was blessed with "4 down, 2 soft", 120$,?that is the starting cost for me to have an "alright day". The amount lasts me into the night, so I don't have to pick up again. I also won't wake up sick, and will likely get through the day just fine, with very minor discomfort by the time I'm off work. So that Is why today was a good day. That is why "it's Friday and I'm feeling fine. Unfortunately, though such is the case, it's really quite narrow minded, and only focusing on how I'm feeling physically, basically more or less just how high I am. If many recent weekends have taught me anything, i would be insane to be confident, 100%, that I'm not just about to blow all of my money, throughout a non stop, no sleep bender, over the next 2-3 days. That's what happened last time I had this much money given to me, to last my nine day vacation. That's what happened last time I had even a couple hundred more, that was supposed to be used to pay my bills. It's also what happened when I had had under a couple hundred less, to buy insurance. Those three weekend all occurred in the past couple months, and that's why everything's cut off or fucked. I'm off work until Tuesday, 11 days from now. When I blew it all the last time I had a "vacation" it was awful. Shot it all up in a couple days, had more than a week of scrounging by, that though actually worked out ridiculously "well" and I "got by" was still a disappointing, stressful struggle, but I'm not going to get into detail about that right now. This time is far more important to me. Not only has everything been cut off, and I've really fucked myself over, upcoming events of above average significants are soon approaching. My birthday is in a couple weeks. Though that is apparently something to perhaps care about a bit, it also roughy marks the time that I started using pretty steadily again. Another year gone. Faded, but this one was post rehab, giving it additional awareness. This one was the first of my life that none of this shitty wreck that it has become has been unfamiliar, or any sort of a surprise to me. With all of my friends having been gone for a while, and having no love in my life (though I had a girlfriend for half of it, who I didn't want to be with or care about at all) this is the first year that has just past me by, doing nothing, being a skid. Another Halloween spent doing nothing out of the regular. Leaves and rain falling, as I fell back into the abyss. Just like that another holiday season came and went. A Christmas where I didn't want to see anyone, could have just been alone getting high. Plants sprouted, summer came, and for the first time in my life have I not only not hung out at the beach for a day, but haven't even cared, haven't even thought about wanting to. "It's not in the cards for me now, with these scars". Summer time used to be what I spent the entire year preparing for. I've never been a man of too many presentable, legitimate hobbies, but if there's one thing I was good at, it was summer. Summer was my hobby. Having spent countless hours in the gym, and sober to save money through so much of the year, when summer came it was game time. Drinking beers at the lake with a group of friends. My little Coleman BBQ in my trunk at all times. Getting so tanned I would be "just niggered", I could be out in the sun from the morning till it went down, "sunscreens for pussies". Drunken swimming, smoking, laying around, these are things I was a master of. Though it might not sound all that impressive, I tell you, those are all things people that have the ability and means to do, love doing. It's not necessarily that I was good at it, it's that I would manage to spend many of hundreds of hours in a summer doing these things. Drinking all day that the lake, going home, showering up, doing a little blow, and being presentable to go out in the evening, on the other hand, really does require a lot more skill. I was actually talking to my dad today about something my dear late friend Matthew J. Salkeld once said to me. I was kind of talking bad about my choices, mainly it was about not wanting to do coke anymore. I think I was saying that if I was going to be single, I would really need to clean up my act. So I said to him "Man, it's not like I can just keep getting fúcking wasted, being a drunk douche bag, doing piles of blow, and expect a hot bitch to just fall on my lap!". He quickly snapped back with the incredibly pleasing, true, argumentative point that shut me right up, and made my father laugh when I told him this story today. He just looks at me shaking his head "Well it's been working pretty fucking good for you for a long time so far hasn't it!?" At first I took a serious pause taking this into consideration, but with my many structured years of hard work progressing in my career, many long hard waves of seasonal partying, years of inter-nasal cocaine consumption, and a series of presentable companions (to say the least) he was right. It was working just fucking great. I was a machine. A drug fuelled machine. Sure it changed from sleep deprivation, alcohol and cocaine to a very intentional abundance of enforced post work/workout rest/sleep, protein and vitamins, but sometimes it was like I was more of a zombie, mad man during my phases of sobriety. Thinking back now it really seems so obvious to me how much of a psychotic addict I've always been. The way that I always did everything to the extreme being the easiest feature to identify. I set so many production records, always ran the most successful shift. So much of the work that I did at that place was absolutely ridiculous. Just like the many hours I would spend in the gym, everyday, or the time spent studying, the eager penny pinching, whether I was actually on drugs or not, they were always the outcome, so I that sense I was always a drug fuelled machine. Though a lifetime of doing everything to the extreme has obviously caused me a great deal of devastating downfalls, during the times when things went wrong, the addict in me had an extreme drive, and success at fixing things. 10,000$ DUI, ouch, what do I do? Pay that off, and when the year of driving prohibition was up, buy a car with another 7 grand, cash. All while I was 19-20. Sure, this is really nothing amazing at all, but I certainly didn't have a single friend that partied as much or as hard as I did that had an apparent fraction of the discipline, and drive that one would need to save up 20 grand in a year, while living on my own. It wasn't until I was in treatment that I realized how much if an addict I always really was. The way I saw it, and somewhat reasonably so, was that I never really had a problem, up until my most recent year or two of heroin/speedball use. I realized that I was actually addicted to switching from excessive partying, to complete discipline and sobriety. People would marvel at my ability to do so "Oh my god how do you do that? I wish I could do the same thing". The praise from my observers satisfied me, I actually got off on it. I will admit, the second and third weekend would usually be tough, but year after year during the same period I was always successful at cleaning myself back up, and continuing to lead a life to take pride in. Depending on which bits of what you've observed of my writing, if any at all, I'm sure some of you easily mistake me for someone much more arrogant, based on the narrow minded fool that I once was. Yes I took false pride in a million things I did, hell I still do, but I'm not full of myself. Hell no. I often wish I was dead, and if I make the right choices in the following days, I really will be soon. The amazing revelations of the treatment I so sorely needed. It's odd to have had such a profoundly successful treatment, only to fade back into the abyss, so soon after. Those lessons are still there however. This year past also marks a year that I first ever let some odd creation of a god into my life. That shit is way to loaded to hit up right now, so that's all I'll say about that. Much more important to me than my cocksucking depressing birthday that soon awaits existence is some day in the middle of September. My day in court has come. I don't even really know why I need to go, it's not like it really would have happened if I was a witness. But I finally get to face this fucker... Oh how my "life" has changed since the time he dented it. I quote "life" because I haven't really been alive for a long time, really more dormant than anything. More significant to me than dealing with the shitty process of this day, and that sick fuck, is seeing the woman that he had his way with, that one fateful night. My one true, the love of my life, Krystina. It will have also been a year since I've seen her. I got kicked out of the recovery house I had been living at on vancouver island, on my birthday, and days after made my way to chilliwack, to binge on the grand or two of money that I had in my name, thanks to employment insurance. Though we fucked a few different days, there was one night I finally gave into her begging, and we shot up and had that amazing sex that we always did. After spending months apart, and having been with 3 new partners that only made me realize how bad I wanted to be with her, it was fantastic to fuck someone I loved. Oh how I've missed that in the past year. As I mentioned I had a girlfriend for half of it, though she was in no way hard in the eyes, I actually grew to despise our intercourse, and her. Being with one other person since that girlfriends had only once again verified how nothing compares to fucking my love. This time we have spent a part has almost only made me discover additional evidence of how endless my love is for her. In all the growing I've done I know that we can't be together, it just can't work, but I don't love her any less, and at this time it still feels as if I never will. What makes me more anxious than the actual experience of enduring the time in court is my self imposed desire to look as good as I can, and somehow be sober. I need a new pair of shoes, and an entirely new outfit to go with it, at the very least. I've already started doing some things, such as taking better care of my teeth, so they can be nice and white, just another quality feature to display. I can't pick at myself at all, or have any scabs on my fucking face. Ideally I'd even like to start tanning as much as I can, not only because a tan looks good, but to hopefully contribute to the appearance of a healthy, healed face. Having to drive out to chilliwack, I feel as if I need to have insurance on my car, which I would also want as cleaned and shined up as I can make myself, and having a working phone is an obvious desire. I don't know how I can possibly do all of these things if I am still using. I have roughly one month from now to go about a massive 180. I whine about no longer having any innocents, having a broken heart, and a lost soul, but the idea of just getting to see my love, even just for a little while seems to kick start my heart. I don't want to rant on about how I'm going to detox, and it really needs to happen this time, because it really needed to happen every time. I kind of think of it like when you quit smoking (and you're experienced with doing so). You don't tell everyone you're going to quit, they'll all just rag on you when you don't. So I'm not going to get into that. All I know is that I've already more or less blown a third of my money and I haven't been off work for 12 hours yet. I at least know that I'm not going to go on a non stop sleepless bender. Luckily I'm very tired, so I won't have a problem getting to sleep tonight. Tomorrow I need to get to a shaw establishment and enquire as to why the dick heads cut off my cable, and pray that they will reconnect it for no more than a couple hundred dollars. Aside from that, what's actually more important, is getting to a grocery store and buying food. Once I buy a weeks worth of food, if everything else is fucked up, and I even have no smokes, at least I can eat while I detox. Detox... Cold turkey... No car, no phone, no cable, no internet, no friends, and the daunting idea of making my way to a fucking NA meeting. Oh man. I'm so not prepared for this... Though I guess you never really are, I guess I just haven't really put much to into anticipating this event. It's just suddenly here, right now, and it has to happen. Fortunately at this point I'm laying back in my bed, with my little dog by my side, eyes about 1/4 of the way open, enjoying my "last hurrah". Hah, I fucking hate even using that term. I've literally had tens of thousands of dollars worth in last hurrahs, and just in the last couple years alone. But... I'm gonna go take a hit, it's likely me last "good one"
