Nothing Of Consequence

If reading about sex is going to bother you, don't read the whole middle of this post. Skip to the end or something. It's not described graphically, but it is personal. So if you are a family member of the male variety, you may not want to go there. And if sex otherwise makes you queasy, this may not be the post for you.


I like Rhianna's new album. It's pretty good I think, even some of the slower songs which aren't generally my thing are pretty listenable. I like the one line, "I'm such a fuckin' lady". Because a lot of people think that women who swear must be trashy and uneducated. But that's not true at all. I think you can be a lady and still know when the situation calls for getting down and dirty. Being a lady doesn't have to be synonymous with prissiness. I think the main attribute a lady must posses is being able to handle almost any situation with grace and ease (or what looks like grace and ease by those on the outside, no matter what she may be feeling on the inside). I'm sure there are many who don't agree with me, but that's still what I think. I aspire to be able to deal with anything from a flat tire to making an edible meal with whatever's in the fridge; anything from a crazy person opening fire in a crowded shopping plaza to getting a red wine stain out of a vintage lace tablecloth, all without freaking out. But that doesn't mean a well placed 'Fuck' doesn't have it's place sometimes. Anyhow.....

We had a little bit of snow last night. I love snow, actually. I hated being forced to stand out in it in the middle of the night with massive eighteen-wheelers careening towards me; but from the comfort of a warm place behind glass or down, it's lovely. It looks like a magical wonderland outside of my window. Snow leaves a feeling of peacefulness for me. Some of the best times in my life were in the snow. I'll remember forever some of the days when I lived in this little cabin with the one I may always consider to be my best love, snowed in with a big fire, cuddled up reading or listening to VPR. The cabin getting so hot we would end up laying there naked, perfect, so happy. Often I wonder if I will ever be in love like that ever again. I know I could if I just got out of the rut I'm in. I love Mikey but in the way you love a brother or a best friend. I really hope we can stay friends, but there is no passion. And I'm way too fiery of a person to have such a lack of passion in a relationship.

I get so annoyed when I hear men who complain that there wives or whatever won't have sex with them enough. It's the opposite for me. I'm sure any men who read this will think, "Well, you probably got all fat and ugly and your man is simply disgusted by you". Well, honestly, I have gained a little weight but I still only weigh about one thirty and I'm about five-two. According to self magazine I should weigh one seventeen to be healthy. So I am about fifteen pounds overweight. That's not un-fuckably fat, right? I mean he's no Jude Law, okay. He's a bit flabby himself and I can look right past that. And I'm, like, what you may call fit fat. I had always been really thin and fit until I got off dope and on methadone and I just don't know what happened but I ballooned up for a while. I've lost a lot but not all. But still I have really good muscle tone from being being so active for so long. And I have a decent face, I'm no model but I'm not ugly. So what's the problem? I don't know, he won't ever give me an answer. He says he's tired, or his back hurts, or he used to blame the methadone or the dope. But he's not on it anymore, so what is it? Is he gay?(I don't think that's it because I find hetero porn all over the house when I clean. That's another thing. I don't care if a guy likes porn, really, I don't. But if he can get it up for that, what gives? I'm always saying that it's not fair that he can do it with a fantasy but saves none for me.) What kind of red-blooded man pushes a woman away when she's trying to pull off his pants to suck his dick? I mean, really? Who doesn't want a blow job, like, whenever? Right? I've blatantly told him to start getting it up or I'm getting out, or I'm going to, eventually, cheat on him. And that just sucks. It's ruining our relationship. It really is the main problem. I don't think we would fight so much about other things if we had more sex. I know it stresses me out to not have sex, like, every day. He says that's not normal, but I think it's him that's not right. Maybe everyday sounds like too much for some people. I can be reasonable though. But he doesn't even want to get down once a month, I swear! I'm not exaggerating! Why should I be okay with that? It's messing with my self-esteem, you know? I'm beginning to think it must be me, even though I know, logically, it couldn't be just me. Our sex life was never the best thing about our relationship. But it was passable for a while. I figured we could make it better once we got to know each other better, but we're just at a barrier in our sex life right now. I've always had a great sex life with other boyfriends. Other guys hit on me or look at me like they'd hit it. He won't even have make-up sex with me. He says when he's mad at me, it turns him off and he just can't. WTF? Is he serious? Is he a fuckin' girl, or what?
Sorry if all the sex talk is making some people uncomfortable. I just have to get it off my chest. Whether anyone reads it or not doesn't really matter. I just have to wonder. I don't like to talk to people who know us both about it because I don't want to embarrass him or myself. But it's really taking a toll on me. I feel like I'm wasting some of the best, most fertile years of my life. Despite the fact that I bitch about overpopulation and how I'm not a huge fan of kids, I do actually want to have kids some day. And so does Mike, but I try to explain to him that that's not ever gonna happen if he won't have sex with me. He just ignores me. It sucks because I think he'd make a really good father too. If you saw the way he treats the dogs, you'd think so too. He made a f'n YouTube video of the tricks he taught his favorite. I'm embarrassed to even admit to that. (I'm pretty sure he posted it, but he may still be working on it at the time of this posting. He was trying to erase my voice from the background saying, "This is gonna make people puke".)I told him I wanted no part in it but he made me video part of it because he said he couldn't orchestrate the tricks and hold the camera at the same time. Definitely goofy. But he spoils the crap out of them. And he's really good at taking care of plants. And I believe that if a person or people want to have kids, they damn well better be sure they can at least keep a small animal like a cat, dog, or guinea pig alive. And certain plants take a lot of care and love to keep alive, too. Seeing the way he treats the plants and animals in his life makes me think he'd be good at raising kids. Of course those are not the only reasons I think he'd make a good parent, obviously. I know I mostly complain about Mike, but clearly I wouldn't have been with him as long as I have if he didn't have redeeming qualities. He's a good guy, don't get me wrong but I just get the feeling that we're not meant to be together for the long haul, you know? We just don't mesh as well as I think we could.

On a more positive note......I really like my new schedule, awake in the daytime, asleep at night. It's just so, I don't know, normal. After only a week I feel so much more alive than I have in almost three years. That sounds crazy, but it's true. Maybe even four. Ever since I started working nights. First at Price Chopper, a local grocery store, in the bakery over night. Than at C&S as a "Security Guard", which was the absolute worst. I was talking to Mike about it the other day, and we agreed that it was around the time we both started working nights, about a year or so after we first got on the methadone (yikes, it maybe has been almost five years) that we really started to get fat. I know I'm going to lose weight so much faster now that I'm working a normal job. I'm moving around constantly, eating a normal breakfast, lunch, and dinner instead of just eating crap whenever I could at weird times because of when I had to be awake. And because I'm working at a health food store I'm becoming more conscious of what I eat. I mean , I've always been picky about what I eat. My Mom always fed us well, homemade meals with a lot of vegetables and no soda and very little sweets. And I've always tried to stand by that. I was really into natural medicine and eating all organic and shit like that for years. That's what I studied at Bennington, along with dance. But once I started getting high all the time, I sort of changed my mentality about a lot of things. Some of the ways in which dope liberated me, I'll never regret. But other things I lost, I'll always be sad about. But anyhow, I've been working out almost every day since I started a couple weeks ago. And now it's my primary job, and I'll have a lot more time to spend on improving my quality of life. I really want to lose the rest of the weight I put on. My goal is to weigh one fifteen. That's not that crazy, I'm pretty small. That's about where I should be. I know I will be much happier with myself if I can fit into my clothes without being self-conscious. I hate that. I hate, hate, hate looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, "Ugh, look at that. It looks horrible". I want to think I look hot all the time, not just sort of hot but, like, wicked hot. I can't wait for my hair to grow out. It's really getting better now that it's not totally short, short. Short is NOT my style, trust me. It has to grow fast. I wonder if I could afford really well done extensions? Is that insane? Yes, okay, I know it is. I'll just have patience and try to make it as un-hideous as possible until then.
Oh my God, it's one! I can't believe I've been on here for so long. This things sucks up my life. That's why I haven't been posting as much. Because I'm not sitting at a desk in front of a computer for twelve hours at a time anymore, I don't have a lot of time to post. But now look what's happened, I've let it all cram up inside me and it's come gushing out in a pus of never-ending-nonsense. I'm going to try to post more often. It's difficult to pry Mikey away from the computer. He's, like, glued to stupid facebook games. I hate facebook, it makes me feel lame. Anyhow, I have to run. Literally, run, run on my stupid elliptical machine. So I'm not fat anymore, and maybe my boyfriend will have sex with me before I run away and find someone who will. I guess I don't feel guilty that it's one o'clock in the afternoon. It's Sunday, my day off. I worked hard at my new job this week. As much as I like the job, my boss is kind of a mean dweeb. I thought I was the only one who thought so. But it turns out, so does everyone else. He can hardly keep staff around a few months, I'm told. He's really mean, he accused me of lying already (I didn't) but that's a story for another time. I don't care, I'm not going to think about it. I'm going to try to let it roll right off me. Like my co-worker, the other-worldly handsome one, does. It's as if he doesn't even hear dweeby man's insults and accusations. That will be me too, if I can pull it off. I need the job. Oh, wait, and I was invited to a party!
So for now, Goodbye.

Almost

I remember people telling me not to get on methadone. They warned me that I would end up as addicted to it as H, but worse. At least with H you know that four, maybe five days and all but a few insignificant physical symptoms will remain. After the initial detox period, I found with H, that the rest was mainly psychological. As in my thoughts were consumed by cravings and daydreams about getting high. But with the methadone, it's all more subtle, but so long and drawn out. For me, I've tried it fast and slow, methadone detox is months of mild withdrawals most of the time, peppered with the occasional bout of diarrhea. The lack of sleep really starts to get to me. It's so hard to get comfortable when you're laying still, aware of every physical sensation. There's no distractions when you're laying in bed and it's quiet. You can feel every muscle spasm, every bead of developing sweat, your thumping heartbeat, and racing thoughts.
I was super close to getting high on Friday. I actually went to the only place I know of these days in Brattleboro where I might find dope. I haven't actively used for over five years because of the methadone, so I really don't know anyone anymore who does that shit. Most of the people I used with have moved, died, are in jail or disappeared by now. But there are a few places that seem like they will always be there. One of those I feel okay about walking in and knocking on the door unannounced and uninvited.
I drove myself into Bratt which was stupid because my car is illegal in VT and I have warrants over there too. But I just had it in my head that the only way I would ever be able to sleep ever again was if I found some opiates. When I start to think that way, all fear and apprehension seems to float away and I'll do things I maybe wouldn't normally do. (Note: I'm not sure this would happen if dope were readily available. There would be no need to become reckless in such a scenario). But I made it into town fine, no police sightings. And rather than drive into town I parked on the outside, really close to the NH border at the train station and I opted to walk the rest of the way. I thought that way I would be less conspicuous to any cops, but there were frickin cops everywhere. They were driving in circles around the few main blocks and they were on foot in the area where I could have asked random people for dope, so that was out. Thankfully, I kept telling myself, I dyed my hair brown just the day before so I didn't look entirely like myself. Many of the Bratt town cops would know me by sight and they make a game of checking the warrant lists for people they know. I know this because I've been told as much by cops themselves in the past when I've been picked up for a warrant. Anyway, I made it up to the house which really isn't far from the train station but it's up a big hill. I started off feeling cold as it's been really gloomy and drizzling rain for weeks up here. By the time I walked up to the deck, I was dripping sweat, I felt like I had to crap my pants and my jeans were chaffing my thighs. It's strange that almost all places that you have to go to get dope sort of look the same. Obviously there are differences but rural, urban, whatever, you generally have to go into a shitty, dank, darkly painted or dingy yellowed hallway. Much of the time someone conducts the deal in the hall. Sometimes you go in an apartment. And many times the apartments are surprisingly nice compared to the hallway. Even in some of the crappiest cities I've been to. There can be throngs of dealers outside and then inside everything is meticulous. Maybe the apartment is owned by a girlfriend or elderly relative. Many times the apartments are shit too. It's more interesting to see the contrast of the mildew and falling plaster compared to the floral, ruffled shams and matching tablecloths littered with ceramic figurines of angels and kittens. Anyway, this particular apartment I went to on Friday is one of the shitty ones, no angels, no kittens, no flowers, pretty much nothing pretty and delicate about it. Everyone who lives there is on disability and if they're not junkies they're on their way or recovering. I like the guy who owns the place, let's call him J. He's quiet and soft-spoken and even though I know I'm always buying him something when I give him my money, there's something about him that makes me not really care. But he didn't answer the door. Some guy I've never met before comes to the door all puffed up with no shirt on. He's kind of handsome in a mean way but he's really no taller than me at five two, so he's obviously got a Napoleon complex and we immediately don't like each other. I asked if J still lived there and I heard Carmel's voice from inside (that's the lady who I got kicked out of the Brattleboro M-done clinic with/because of) so I kind of talked over him to her while pushing my way through the door. I also didn't like him because as soon as he opened the door he exclaimed very loudly, "Wow, you look high!", and I was like, "Ah, no, it's the fucking opposite actually". So then he jumped down my throat like he ran the place, "Well, what do you want?" I told them dope or bupes or something. So he was all, "I'll give you two bupes for forty". And I said three for forty and Carmel said yes and he flipped and wouldn't do it so I was all fuck it I'll just take em, whatever. But then he pulls out his shit and all he has are Suboxone which I don't want at all. So I called him out and said I didn't want that because they have nal-whatever, that stupid opiate blocker which would make me sick because I'm on methadone and not sick enough. And they were all pissed and telling me I didn't know what I was talking about because I had said bupes and Suboxone has bupenorphine in it. It does, I agree, but it also has that other shit. Subutex has just the bupenorphine and you can shoot it without getting sick. I guess you can shoot suboxone too but I've been told it makes you feel really sick for a while and then you feel high after that, I'm not willing to try it. The one time I shot some liquid medication I didn't know exactly what it was, I thought I was going to die.
So anyway, I didn't want the suboxone, they really do nothing for me but make me sick and give me a headache. So I tried to ask if they had anything else, or if anyone else did. But by then this guy and I really were about to jump on each other. I had my hand on my mace but I knew I was outnumbered, so I was trying to keep everything in perspective and get out without a scene. Nobody else was going to step on his toes by offering to get me something else. I know they wanted me to buy their last suboxone so they could use my money to buy something better for themselves. But this was really going nowhere. The guy was muttering about how he was trying to help me out but if I couldn't see that then whatever. So I ended up being like, "Go Fuck yourself and I stomped out. So now I'm not so sure about going back. If I knew that asshole wasn't there I would. But he seemed all over-coked up or on steroids or something. I'm totally a downer person and the other end of the spectrum throws me into flight, or fight more likely.
After that I was not up for dealing with the police so I left town thinking I'd go to Keene but when I got there it just seemed like more effort than it was worth. So, defeated I went home sulking. I wanted Mike to drive me to the city so I didn't have to embarrass myself asking people for dope who look at me like I'm the devil. I prefer it when I don't even need to do more than get out of the car and people ask me what I want. But he wouldn't and I didn't want to go alone and end up getting the car impounded.
End result: many Aleve's, klonadine (hydroxy HLC, however you spell it), vitamin D, and California Poppy extract. That put me out for, like, five hours or so. Then I sort of inevitably toss and turn until about six when I can convince Mike to go to the clinic.