I am miserable, and I wish I colud disappear.
I am not good at anything, anymore.
My art is sh*t.
I still can’t work on my play.
I woke up yesterday feeling like I was strung out, again.
All the sensations of waking up in that sad, sick state – my brain squirming around in thesame old circles. It took a whole minute for me to realize that six months have gone by since I picked that sh*t up. I have turned down offer after offer for free sh*t. I found a bag under my bed that one time, and I called Jordan, and told him, so I couldn’t go through with using it (flushed it). I have chased my tale like mad, trying not to do this thing.
Yesterday, I saw a woman struggling with her bags and a box – an old asian woman. I think she was a transient, but I could not be sure. I offered to help her, but she didn’t understand English. After she started to walk away, I saw her sit down to rest. I thought "this woman at least needs to get something to drink." I took a couple bucks from my pocket, and went to her, and did my best to communicate that I thought this fell from her pocket. We both knew it was a lie, but she was an older Asian woman, and probably proud. I didn’t want to mess with that. I understand pride. I used to have some. She thanked me, almost too gratefully (it made me even sadder). I nodded, smiled, and walked away. Swinging one foot in front of the other, I made my way home.