August 1st Part Two
Wow, when I haven't written for a while I've been told to just write. Well I did that and edition 1 has no rhyme or reason.
Michelle Wie. WTF. She has no LPGA tour card, she barely makes cuts on the women's tour when she gets sponsors exemptions, never mind winning yet they continue to invite this side show freak into PGA tour events. Don't get me wrong, she's 18 and I would surely fuck her but why she's playing with the men when she can't compete with the woman is beyond me. Let's be real. Men are the superior sex when it comes to most anything so, take a hike bitch.
Back to the story. It started as a significant August 1st day and it turned into something complete different than where I was going and unfortunately you'll all have to wait to see why August 1st was at one time significant. Regardless that was how I copped. I did it three or four times a day for a long time although there was some breaks in the action. For this August 1st shit there was no break in the action.
My grandma died in January 2005. It was my first family member to go and it also brought up a lot of feelings about my best friend Jeff that died, who I'll get into sometime down the road, but it also stirred up a lot of guilt. My grandma, (Mor Mor pronounced Moo Moo after her Swedish 2nd husband) the good Irish woman that she was, liked to drink and I'm sure I got the "gene," what our huge Irish family likes to call instead of addiction, from her. No hard feelings mind you, in our fucked up family those with the gene had the talent, yet with the talent comes with a broken mind.
My guilt lies with the fact that while I spend my teenage summers in Worcester, it was so hard for me to make the trek to West Boylston to see Mor Mor on a regular basis. I would rather gang bang with my friends, and finger the girls (they didn't put out so much in 1979) that worshipped me up on Grafton Hill than make the drive and have dinner or a drink with my Mor Mor.
Anyway, back to the point. I forgot to mention I got paid on Thursday at 1pm and would go cop immediately and get back in time for work at 5pm. I'd get enough for a shot before work, a shot after work, and I'd be good to go. My money usually carried me through to Sunday night when my check would nearly be gone and I wouldn't use again until Thursday thus avoiding what could have become a serious physical habit...not knowing how bad the psychological habit had become.
What do I see so often...rinse, wash repeat or some shit like that. That was my life. Thursday through Sunday getting and staying high, Monday through Wednesday, obsessing about getting high, hoping that I had $15 left over so I could figure out a way to make a dozen eggs and a bag of potatoes, as well as getting my smokes, make it until Wednesday as I worked in the UPS warehouse.
The fateful day came in February. I got my check and for some reason the page back said, "Nothing until at least tomorrow Hip." Oh fuck. I'd had this one source and it was good as gold man, they had their hours, they always had the product and what quality product it was. Some new kid I'd been running with, which means I was charging him for me to get him his shit, had an idea.
"I've got a connect in Jennings for coke, I'm sure he can hook us up with the dope."
After not saying anything for at least two minutes my addiction took over and off we went to Jennings. Little did I know the horrible consequences of this trip.