10.04.2004

Drop



Time stopped, but I kept moving.

That’s what it felt like the second the white wine that I had thought was water hit the back of my throat.

One part of me slouched forward into the cloyingly sweet never never land and disappeared into the blackness of a poison pupil slit.

The other part sunk backwards and held it’s ground… “No!” It screamed at the evil eye, “I don’t want this! This is the evil shit that had me in its grip once before…”

I immediately spit what I could back into the glass, but it had been a big gulp and I had already swallowed some.

The girl I'd been talking to gave me a half-hearted, sad look

I felt the drop burn a path all the way down to my nearly empty stomach, where it exploded into a zillion vapors that rose up like chemical steam off a chemical burn—rising up through my body, radiating through every molecule and filling every gap with its fumes.

(wherever one part of me ended and another began)


It was as though i was a petrified sponge, left out for millions of years in the arid desert sun, and now the mere memory of water was passing through my crumbling nooks and crannies.

I’m a lusty, sinful person. I use a lot of bad words and I have a lot of bad thoughts. But in those minutes after I drank the drop of wine, it was almost like i was praying again—

please please

somebody help me out.

It was enough to make me loose my balance a bit, as I struggled up, answering others that I was fine, it was OK, no big deal

(meanwhile, inside i was thinking oh shit, oh fuck!)

i got some more water…i ate some food. Crackers and chips, breaded chicken and teriyaki sauce, melon and bleu cheese (which i really hate, but i thought it would at least get rid of the taste).

just let me get through to tomorrow


I mean, i never have chocolates with booze in them, wine sauces or rum cakes. i don’t use face wash with alcohol in it. That’s how far away from it i’ve tried to stay.

Sure, I still hang out, in bars and in clubs and at parties where everyone around me is getting their drink on. People can do whatever they want and it doesn’t matter. Except smack—I can’t handle that. And if they’re really, really, drunk. Then it’s time for me to go. Otherwise it’s fine. Go for it—and you don’t have to ask.

I will not allow an open bottle to be in my vicinity if no one else is around.

tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow

i’ve come a long way. a long fucking way since when i was crawling around on a piss covered floor, trying to scoop up the drugs i’d drunkenly dropped…i’m a long fucking way from the nights of never-ending torment, the highs and the lows, the grinding of teeth, the pains i’d get when i was having sitting or eating. the way my mind would shut off and on like a TV and i’d talk a lot of shit and get into fights, push people down stairs, pay off others to drive me far, far away…

where no cell phone would reach…a cabin, with just me and the fellas and the drugs and the booze and the stars and the snow and a long walk in and i thought it would all be OK. we’d just bounce around for awhile in the stratosphere and then we’d come down eventually. we’d make amends and get real jobs and it would all just be fine. i didn’t get it. i didn’t see. i was like the people who stand at the edge of the platform, with their necks craned, waiting for that first orange light to raze the tracks

i was like all of those silly people, who think it makes a difference if you can see the train coming.

i thought i had my eyes open the whole time, but i still missed it when something really happened...

torn between saturday nite and sunday morning…

i was folded up and acting out.

i had the ladies from the eighties when i was fourteen years old.

i am so much younger than that now.




jamie




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