The Devil Lies In Not Being Occupied
F*ck. What to do?
Had me Subutex. Had a few canssssss (which – h’cup! I wasn’t ‘sposed to do).
Right…I’m not getting anywhere by sitting here thinking of naughty words to say. I’ve come to a conclusion: Heroin was doing more for me than I gave it credit for (I am in NO WAY endorsing the stuff, mind).
I’m sat, staring out of the window, doing nothing except hitting the keyboard now and then. That would be fine normally because I would be sedated without fully appreciating said sedative effect that my drug of choice provided me.
I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF. I’m waiting for a feeling, I think. But it’s been so long since I had an honest-to-God one that wasn’t under the supervision of some chemical or other that I probably won’t realize when one does arrive.
What Do ‘Normal People’ Do?
I can’t help but ask myself, “What is it that normal people do or worry about?”
I think as habitual drug users, we walk around in this bubble of indifference to normal life. I don’t mean we don’t give a shit when something big happens, like in a political sense or someone dies or, you know, an event that seems like it’s demanding your attention and you agree that it should. I mean you walk past so many people on your travels to and from scoring or using that it seem so normal.
Depending on your mood, you might sneer and think ,“Well f*ck me, I wish all I had to do was worry about the mortgage and the ‘leccy’.”
But then some people get upset and worried about the strangest things…
A Strange Encounter
The other day I was walking past one of those special bins for disposing of dog crap (cats build their own bins and hide them from prying human eyes) and I dropped an empty beer can in.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Came a shrill cry from behind me.
“Er… Putting something in the bin?”
“Well don’t you realize that bin is for pet waste only?”
Now, I have to clarify something: I’m not the sort of person that enjoys confrontation, but the can I dropped into said receptacle was the fifth in a series of 9% lagers and so my tongue was somewhat loosened. In my defense, I really couldn’t help myself.
“Oh my good gracious! You’re right!” – With mock horror on my face at my actions. “We wouldn’t want to contaminate all that lovely clean animal feces with filthy aluminium, would we?”
She soon buggered off and I felt like David must have felt after slaying a goliath granny. The feeling soon wore off as I realized I’d just been unnecessarily horrible to a nice, community conscious old lady, albeit carrying a sack of shit.
I think – I’m not sure yet – that she was an example of what I meant about the “normal people”. The lucky people who have no knowledge of this dark side of life, outside of the addict bubble.
But, then again, I consider at least one aspect of a dark life giving a sh*t about a bin full of shit.
I find it very difficult to believe that there’s a guy somewhere paid to collect this valuable commodity and open each plastic “doggy bag” and throw it some sort of composting device. Maybe they use it to make the gravy in the hostel I’m currently staying at. It can be lumpy at times.
Got Any Questions?
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