Wednesday, August 4

Sick Day - Part Deux

I called in sick today, again. I decided that it was such a beautiful day outside, I couldn't spend it secluded in a windowless, out-of-date building, answering phones. I figured it was much better to spend it secluded in my own comfortable home with my cats and television, shuffling around in my pajamas and eating Apple-cinnamon Cheerio's until 2pm. Screw em', they still have to pay me, and I'm only stopping by tomorrow to pick up my check.

It's days like this that make me realize how quickly one can go stir crazy alone in a house. Back when I was unemployed, I did a lot of writing to keep myself sane. Now that I'm supposed to be writing so I can quit my job (this is a huge goal. I completely understand, and I'm not crazy), I usually end up playing Wolfenstein, and waiting to have enough money to buy Doom 3. I have a full time job, my weekends are endlessly busy, and we're moving into a huge apartment at the end of the month, but I always feel like I'm going absolutely nowhere.

I felt like I needed to escape, and today was the best day for it. With the sick day in full effect and my Wife out of the house, I had the entire day to myself to do whatever I wanted.

What I wanted was some crack.

My previous experiences with drugs have not gone well (just see my last post, and this one from a while back to drive the point home), but today was about new avenues and alleyways. Ironically, my first stop on this adventure took me right to an alleyway.

To be fair, I had to stop at the gas station beforehand so I could hit the ATM for cash, and one of those glass-paper-flower holders they sell at the counter. People always told me that you could smoke crack with those, so I bought 2 and was on my way. I met up with "Slim" behind the Wendy's on Bird Street, and he hooked me up with a $20 sack of "rock". I discreetly placed the small baggie into my ass, and quickly drove home.

No sooner did I get home and set up my goods, when I realized that I've never smoked anything in my entire life. I had no idea how to light one of these things, let alone keep it lit and inhale it. I instantly had a newfound respect for junkies, and insisted to myself they should work for NASA. I had no crack-smoking friends I could call, and all the crack smokers from my old neighborhood were dead. I was starting to think this dream might never become a reality.

Reality! That's it! I quickly flipped the TV to the FX channel, where they were showing 1 of the 22 episodes of "Cops" that airs during the day. Certainly I could get some pointers from someone on there. Crack rocks were tossed around on "Cops" like marbles. Addictive, square marbles. I sat, glass pipe in hand, waiting for a drug bust.

I can't exactly remember when my door was kicked in, but it was sometime in between the domestic violence call and the prostitution bust. The real world and the reality TV world collided right before my eyes. Before I knew it, I was being demanded to spit out whatever was in my mouth, and tazed repeatedly. It turned out that my buddy "Slim" was a narc, and the crack was actually just some hardened "Comet" surface cleaner.

I was looking for something new, and I found it. I don't have to go to my stupid job anymore, I don't have to call in sick, I don't have to worry about money, I don't have to worry about the new apartment and my Wife, and I don't have to worry about making decisions anymore.

Here's to monotony. It's all we've got, and most of us don't even deserve it. Don't worry if you feel like you're going nowhere, because at least you know you're not sliding backwards. Look around. You've got a job, a place to stay and someone who loves you nearby. What did you do to deserve that much anyways? Don't push your luck, loser.

You should have known better...most street crack is so cut with cleaners and whatnot anyway....You gotta know your dealer, man!!!! haha.
This is what happens when Ryan attempts fiction.
At least that's what I'm going to tell my family this weekend. They have more important things to worry about than their crack pipe-sucking son. Hey, that's pretty funny! Imagine me smoking crack, and you'll never laugh at anything else as hard again.
No, it's not very funny when you smoke actually scares us, and makes us all hide under our beds...and the children all scream "Daddy, please don't sell our shoes! They're the only pair we have left!"

Yeah, it sucks, really...
Yeah, well maybe we wouldn't have so many kids if you believed in birth control, and didn't want to live off the system so damn much. I've become everything I've ever hated.

Well, off to the job center to get food stamps.

(This has really taken a turn for the worst, hasn't it?)
YOU'VE taken a turn for the worst, you lousy father and provider.
My only task as a male is to impregnate as many women as possible, and not pay any child support.
As is mine....oops! I wasn't supposed to tell anyone else that.

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