How many times am I going to be hit with the realization that the life Iím living is not the one I want?Parts of it are there - they come and go in a sense, but the good parts are only tiny pieces filling up holes in the big chunks that I donít like. So how do I filter all the glittering pieces of sunlight from the sand thatís filling bucket after useless bucket - and then how do I take all those tiny crystals of hope and build them into a castle that will be strong enough to withstand even the strongest fiercest tide that threatens to wash it all away?
Where do I start?
Theres a pile of jeans in the middle of my bedroom floor - jeans I hate and will never wear but canít throw out, because everthing has potential. All I need to do is get a pair of scissors and cut them up into pieces that can be neatly folded and put away. Eliminate the bulky parts and the rest can fit into the drawer in the storage bin in my closet. Projects dont need to be made yet. Just baby steps. Just clear a space. Get rid of the sand. Make the situation more appealing which equals a little less useless stressÖ
the phone call - find a doctor - make an appointment - go to it - pay for sanity.
The problem? Dialing the numbers.
Why? Donít know. Canít be bothered.
Yet if I just made the call, the pants on my floor would already be in the drawer in my closet. Maybe even turned into something else by now.
Vicious circle. Catch 22. Catch me if you can Iím so far behind.
Jesse came in. jesse whoís trying to quit heroin. Never done it so never had to quit. But I know. I can see it in his face. In his hands when they shake as he tries to hold the straw to drink his cranberry juice. In his wool camel ll bean coat that looks so awkwardly sophisticated next to the purple scrunchie holding his dreds out of his face. And his theories. Theories on addiction and acid and babies born in 3032. And he drinks 32 ounces of cranberry juice over and over again and probably wonders how heís going to make through the next hourÖ the next 20 minutesÖ
and I cant admit to him how stressed out I am by my own stupid problems, because tonight Iíll have money to pay rent and food to eat in the morning and Iím not surrounded by heroin-addicted Baltimore. And I wish to myself that I could take him home with me and make him feel like nothing bad could ever happen and that there are people who arent going to fuck him over and I wish I wish I wish..
But instead I said, "you know where I am if you need anything."
And he smiled. "Like cranberry juice.." and I laughed. But I meant more than that. But I didnt say it. I can only hope that maybe he knows.
And maybe he did.
and Iím sad. Because I dont think I know whats really important.