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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.

 

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