myopically

it's sunday again. i like to read my blogs. since only one other person reads them, i consider it to be my journal. since i'm willing to be completely honest with this person, i've come to realize that this writing here is more honest than if i were to write it in a book. i often wonder... what does she think of my ranting? it's been rather negative lately. people go around asking me how i am... fine, everything is great, it really isn't. i fool myself sometimes too. every sunday morning my program hold a beach meeting for the clients. you know, beach chairs, a circle, donuts, aa book. this morning the topic of discussion was the high point and low point of your week. it came around to me. i didn't want to share for fear of being confronted after the meeting. well, i spilled it out. i told them i wanted to rip off their faces and smoke crack. they thought that was funny. well it really isn't. i ranted for about five minutes about the low point. the high point? good question. yesterday, i did something that is out of character for me. i read someones blog and beame very concerned. i left a comment and wrote a message, but i was still plauged. this person gave me their number. i called. it rang. no answer. i was in the process of leaving a message when i got a text from the person. it made me feel warm. the warmth started in my head like a surge and flowed down to the rest of my body like i injected a drug. simple pleasures for simple people.

you know, after the beach meeting, i expected for people to come up to me and talk. no one did. they walked past me like i didn't exist. that made me sad, i sat there for quite some time looking out to the water, just thinking. smoking, drinking tea, and thinking. the waves keep comming, they never stop. i want to be a wave. there are consistencies in this world. i'm not one of them. i'm a snake ride. i spend too much time feeling sorry for myself. i was and am really bothered by this morning. well, us addicts are pretty selfish people. maybe that's it. no, that's pretty fucked up. every time in one of hose meetings when someone has been struggling, i made a point to go up to them and offer myself. if i met a resistince, i gave them my phone number in case they wanted to talk later. fuck them. fuck it. fuck fuck fuck uck uck ck ck k k.

i'm disenchanted with the world as i know it.
and i miss you, like the deserts miss the rain.

june 10, 2007. a homeless man is walking down the street. that could of been me. cars are driving by. the wind is blowing. music is playing. the internet is always there. my tea is hot. my cigarette tastes good. the waves are crashing. paper stars are hinding behind the azure reality. death is one day closer. the house smells llike pine sol. my hands smell like windex. i need to take a shower. i want to drink a frothy stout. i want to be held by someone i care about. i want them to caress my hair and whisper into my ear, feeling the warmth of their breath. i want this all to go away. i want to feel happy. i want. i want. i want. i want so damn much. i think i'm going to stop now. i hope th people i was in rehab with don't feel like me. i'm afraid they do...