Feels like God is playing a joke on me, because everyday UP TILL THE ACCIDENT i was thanking him everynight before i went to sleep, on the way to my destination for my raunchy little vehicle, and for my new part time job that is ojnly enough hours to p-ay for half of rent. I was sooo thankful for the little bit that i had. everyone keeps sayin, "at least your not hurt". Or, "be thankful for what you still have". These people have REAL 40 hr jobs and make 3-8 times more than I EVER have. They make at least 50,000 a year and are younger then me which is just a nother slap in the face.
  Everything was going SO WELL. Even if all i had was a part time job that paid 120 one week and 240 the next, it6 was STILL a start. And with that little start, i had the push and motivationjh to find other jobs of the same nature with over night shifts duiring the week. How do I get there now? Makes me SOOO ANGRY!! Ed isn't gonna take me to be somewhere at 12 a.m on a weeknight. So it'll take me like till the summer to have a working car again or possibly not till  september. If so help me god, it ruins my plans to start up at North Shore Community College, I will probably commit suicide or kill someone in my way.

 All of the sudden, it's the end of November, and there is only one delicate leaf clinging to the bare tree outside our bedroom window. It raises and twirls, and I wonder if i'll get to see it fall. There's got to be some wishing rights that go with that; seeing the last leaf fall? Thanksgiving is coming up. I wonder if I should bother going or respectfully stay here in Salem. I wonder how far the news has traveled inside my family regarding my dirty lifestyle. I wonder if when i show up I'll get a bunch of "your two skinny remarks" even though I will have started the methadone and if anything, gained a massive amount of weight. Ihonestlyhave no cluewhere I'll bein a matter of a couple months. It's a very uncomfortable feeling not having a definate place to call home. Not knowing who will be kind enough to let you in without taxing you emotionally for the favors they do for you.  Wethere they want you in their presense every minute they are home or want you to listen to them gripe constantly, there is never such a thing as the free lunch, and sometimes ypou'll spend the rest of your life trying to figure out how to get a person back "enough" because they are so goddamn indirect when it comes to revealing their interests. 
   I cant really go to NA meetings anymore. It's become so fucking socially awkard with Ed shewing out every dude who talks to me.

    The first and most superior doom band ever. Them, and electric wizard, Sleep, Witchfinder general, and Pentagram, Amebix, Blue Cheer, Candlemass. Doom metal and stoner rock is my new musical obsession. It feels like the most appropriate genre for me just by looking  collectively at my influences from a kid up till recently; heavy, a little abrasive, but always somewhat melodic. These last couple years I haven't been able to indulge and expand on my collection the way I would like to. Once I get my green peace job and become a receptionist for the tattoo shop opening in Salem, I'll be deserving of new music, dvd's, tattoos, and other material crap. I wonder if by gratifying certain material desires I will simultaneously be silencing the overheard ones voiced by addiction. 

  Familiarity really dulls the senses. Right about now I'm due for major change. I'm done with my industry and I've never felt so ambitious and ready. Sometimes deciding to quit feels just as victorious as succeeding at a long term goal. I cant keep up with the gossip, glamor, and trends that inspire most other hair stylists. It may be a perfectly great skill going to waste but it is a choice that feels empowering and I'm ready to stop going against the grain for the sake of challenging myself. I've become so jaded by five years of non-prosperous jobs that I'm ready to absorb myself completely, and allow my instincts to rule my train of thought.

My timeline
is a chain link of failures.
Memories turn in the back of my mind.
no longer opaque but rather stinging my eyes with clarity.
I see old jobs, living situations and different social scenerios
where I never succeeded to fill the shoes of my ideal self.
They're chased with moments of over-drinking
and jamming needles into my bloodstream.
A timeless phase and burning desire,
to fade from the everyday tortures of life.
Dissolved by a thick fog,
and into a painless world of toxic euphoria.
Twenty-five and three weeks clean,
my brain throbs coming up for air.
All the regret doesn't change a thing.
Between all of the job searches, resume tweaking, calls to old friends
and NA meetings, sleep it the fuck off.
Over sleep into each afternoon
hoping to wake up with back to back messages
from prospective employers.
Some days are better than others.
Traceback to years and years ago to when you were young;
When you were fully immersed in a multitude of hobbies
and a job didn't become your title.
Back when imagination was so enriched and powerful
that dreams seemed tangible.
Write lots of bullshit poetry and personal essays
while fantasizing about getting paid for it.
Whatever keeps you from thinking
about how you have so little to be proud of.
You haven't fulfilled any goals.

    The only thing worst in life than being a heroin junkie all strung-out and stranded in a lonely beach town with no friends, no car, no job, no money, and no working veins, is kicking your habit only to find yourself trapped in precisely the same circumstances; except clean, and no less of a loser. Life's disappointments only appear that much sharper in focus. You still feel like your existence has no purpose and you're future looks grim regardless of whether or not you relent to your poisonous vice. I never noticed before how well the rest of the world was progressing at my age. They're putting money down on houses, having babies, getting married, pursuing interesting careers, six-figure jobs, starting their own businesses, whatever the fuck. I used to justify my lack of accomplishment with the notion that success occurs at different times in peoples lives. Everyone has a different take on what it means to be, "successful". That's actually a cop out. When I think of all the clients I lost from Moving to New York on a whim and moving back in less than a year, It absolutely pains me to imagine starting from scratch as a stylist again. A  three-hundred dollar paycheck, at best, doesn't cut it anymore. Most salons only pay commission. Some will start you off on a weekly pay off two-hundred to two-fifty a week.  So now I'm just looking at any job that'll pay me worth a damn and sadly, to me,  "a damn" is ten bucks an hour.
      Before my life became a royal mess, I used to be ambitious and passionately committed to my trade. I used to write endless To-Do lists before going to bed. I used to have a car, my own apartment, a position at a well-reputed salon, solid friendships, and phone that used to actually ring. Naturally, I was too broke to go out, and usually stewing in pity being the self-loathing junkie that I was....or still am? If I was in high spirits then I easily booted up just minutes before, only to be temporarily washed over by a synthetic euphoria. I couldn't socially interact in a positive, normal way. Aside from being devoid of expression, I could hardly keep my head up at eye-level because I was constantly nodding off. I destroyed my car in a snowstorm. I got fired for showing lack of gumption. Shortly thereafter, I had to leave the over-priced studio I had recently moved into. With time, my friends either gracefully vanished or politely excused themselves from making plans and dodged my occasional phone calls. No one likes a junkie. That is unless, they too, are junkies. I got clean pretty much by myself. I lost or sold pretty much everything I had in addition to my sanity and now all I am left with is an overdrawn bank account. 
    I'll do anything shy of prostitution just to have a couple bucks in my wallet and more importantly, a reason to peel my face off the pillow every morning. I'll  work at fucking Dunken Donuts, ok?  ANYTHING, just so I can get closer to attaining that small financial cushion that everyone else has who also claims to be broke.  My mentality has regressed to that of an eighteen-year-olds, fresh out of high school when they are trying to figure out what they want to do with their life. Unfortunately, I'm out of time and my credit is utterly destroyed. My job options have been narrowed down to the most unfaveorable entry-level positions. I'm presented with a more important question; how do live life like a normal human again without the prospect of dope?