T’was the day before cheque day and all through the house, the users were hanging, and so on...
Okay, I went out New Years Eve and re-enacted the siege of Leningrad on my liver. I was intelligent and insightful like William Boroughs, sang like Nick Cave and was generally the man of the “hour”.
Of course this is only in my own mind, I had ingested fuck knows what.
In truth I was stoned, falling asleep, and threw my drink all over myself
when on the Nod and everyone shouted “Happy New Year” and thus
went home with a wet crotch and no direct memory of the event;)
I woke up, sweating, shaking, and with the most urgent need to visit the
lavatory, not knowing which end to stick at it first, I settled for sitting
on the lavatory facing the sink, in case my own offensive odour caused both
to work simultaneously.
Every time I am sick, I find my own bodily functions repulsive — you sweat, you give an offensive odour, you vomit, you splurt, you retch, you heave, you moan, you whinge, no one wants to know you — in fact you become less than human and lie there praying that St Joan of Narc will drop you a quarter from our of the heavens, which is close to what happened this new year’s day as I lay in my own disgusting misery.
I was lying there trying to get up the courage to say sorry to all and sundry, girlfriend flatmates etc, because I know I must have been offensive and done stuff that made me appear to be a complete FUCKWIT as I was three shades of wasted.
Then there was a knock at the back door. I threw a towel around me and went to answer the door. I left my sleeping girlfriend, walked past my semi-dressed hanging out ex girlfriend and answered the door. All the while puzzling why my ex was semi dressed and on the couch, but that’s another story, one I have already well and truly paid for.
Anyways, back to the meat and potatoes. I threw open the back door, and there was a man who looks exactly like Jack Nicholson on my back door landing, he was shaky and actually knew my name.
‘Yet another one of life’s little mysteries’ I thought to myself, trying to piece together what ever the hell I did the night before. Anyways he uhms and ahhs and tells me he knows that I “use”. I thought ‘big deal, this is the Valley, man’. Yeah right, the next thing he says is “Can you score, money is NO OBJECT”. Thank you St Joan of Narc.
A user’s paradise. I did what any good junky would do. I dressed in just a towel and a hangover kissed him! My prayers were answered. I of course woke up the girlfriend, “sweetie lets go”!!! She of course being a woman said “where, who, who is this guy, how do you know him, maybe he’s a cop, and why the fuck is your ex on our couch in her underwear!!!!” Well let’s NOT go into our personal life, needless to say ten or fifteen minutes later we are on our way.
Mum, the motherly kindly drug dealer was happy to see us, she too was a
little weary after the nights festivities, we took our new “best friend”
to visit mum and made an important discovery!!! There is an instant, complete
and miraculous cure for the morning after the night before; there is a brotherhood
and bond that is forged in the blink of a drug deal. I was happy, he was
happy, unfortunately the ex and the girlfriend weren’t happy, but
as I have said, that’s another story entirely!!
- J.
GO TO THE HOME PAGE
Please note personal stories do not necessarily reflect the policies and attitudes of www.saferinjecting.net or the sites that allowed reproduction. This article has been reproduced from http://www.quihn.org by courtesy of QuIHN who hold copyright.