can't see straight.

I got off work a little early last night. I had plans of watching the simpsons and crawling into bed all early like but those dreams were shattered when my roommate Leslie asked if I wanted to go to Delirium with her for some drinks. I hesitated for a moment decided it was a nice night, I was home early, I didn't have to stay out too late PLUS it was just three short blocks away from my house. I could come home whenever I wanted. The plan was set.

I retreated back to my room to get ready. Leslie followed and sat down at my computer and realize that Dark Sparkle was tonight. We hadn't been to Dark Sparkle since late February, or was it early March??? I don't remember it was some time way back when Jessica moved in. So she suggested that we could go there instead. But we headed down to Delirium, because that was the plan, to keep it low key. Too bad it was packed with trucker hat wearing freaks. You couldn't even get to the bar so we caught a cab and headed over to 11th Street.

You could say I wasn't really dressed for Dark Sparkle. It borders on the Goth-ish side and I was wearing bar clothes. Jeans, a black off the shoulder t-shirt, black pointy shoes and a simple yet stylish black and white prada bag. I looked cute, but then again the place is filled with black lights which made my jeans look like they were acid wash throwbacks from the 80's and while 80's fashion seems to be everywhere, I for one don't buy into much of that shit and I most certainly draw the line at acid wash jeans! I was getting drunk though. Drunk and all the while knowing that I had to be at work in the morning. That I had another thirteen hour day that lay ahead of me. That I was going to be MISERABLE in the morning. Of course I didn't care. Not right then. I danced, made fun of half the people there (okay, okay it was more like 2/3rds of the people there) and I drank.

I wondered why Justin never danced. At all the clubs I see him at he never dances. Maybe he can't dance? Maybe he's too shy. It just bothers me that he just sort of hangs out on the side. It must be boring? I watched the videos of Bauhaus up on the wall. I started feeling tired. I knew it was time to go. The place stayed open until three, but at 1:45am I knew I had to head home. I left my roommate there and walked the five or six blocks home completely wasted. I couldn't walk straight to save my life. The closer to home I got the more drunk I knew I was, the more drunk I felt. I managed to make it up our three flights of stairs and into my room where I imediately passed the fuck out.

Lessons learned this morning is that Sparks, Kamakazi shots, and beer do not mix well especially when ingested at random intervals throughout the night. I woke up feeling like complete fucking crap. SICK AS A DOG doesn't even begin to describe it. Well I've woken up feeling worse, say a night back a few months after one too many southern comfort and cokes... but this one takes the cake for the month of August. So why do I do it? Why do I knowingly mix drinks that I know are going to make me wish I was laying on the cold bathroom tiles instead of sitting at my desk attempting to look busy and alive. Why did I go against my original plan of action of vegging out for a bit and then getting some much needed sleep? I'd really like to know what goes on inside my head sometimes.

On the bus this morning I kept having waves of sickness wash over me. Telling myself it was not an option to be sick. I had to stand which wasn't helping things either, and then someone got up and slid into their spot, unaware of whom I was sliding in next too. And then I smelled it. The smell of an alcoholic. The smell of a junkie. It wasn't dirt or funk or anything else just that sickening sweet smell of addiction. I thought I was going to lose it, I already wasn't feeling well the bus was jerking and rocking back and forth and then here was this smell. I finally looked over and saw that the man was sweating heavily and in his right hand was a sandwich bag stained brownish wraped in foil. His fix, his smack, his heroin. He needed a fix about as bad as I needed to be back at home laying down. He started to shake a bit. I inched over a bit. He finally got off the bus, at what I'm pressuming was not the stop he wanted but was the stop he needed so he could cook up. This city is filled with junkies, heroin specific. Everywhere I go I see some poor fuckup shooting up. In ally's, on main streets, in neighborhoods you wouldn't expect it in. Needles litter the ground in the street behind my house. Walking to the bus stop I have to step over them or see some homeless man shooting and all right outside of the methadone clinic that is just two blocks away from my home...

I'm starting to feel better. It's taken me an hour to write this between getting up for more water and fake working and thankfully my stomache is settling, but I'm still exhausted and I have 11.5 hours of work ahead of me.