Saturday, December 15, 2007

The magic pill

The problem with a backroom that only happens once a month -- well, that's the problem. I guess it happens on other nights too, I'm just not sure which ones. Tonight it happens for sure, but I don't feel like rushing over. Maybe if someone gave me the magic pill -- that doctor gave me a bunch of supplements but I can’t even deal with risking any of them -- maybe a little bit of calming, a sinus headache to tear me up, some cloudiness, a dry throat, indigestion to connect the dots and watery eyes so that I know I'm looking at something, something that doesn't work but maybe with all the blurriness I'll try it again.

The acupuncturist was talking about this woman who found out she was allergic to potatoes, she did a clearing and then boom her life changed. Sometimes sex is the magic pill, but that only lasts so long. A breath of fresh air even shorter. The right music -- that can last for maybe 45 minutes, but then I'm already crashing. B-12 gives me maybe five minutes. A warm shower -- maybe a half hour. The sun on the fire escape, but that always goes down.

I guess the magic pill just means crashing, crashing is what it means for me like ecstasy I always wanted to drive back and forth over the bridge as the sun was rising but I was already crashing this was just a delay.

It feels good to lie on the bed at Grant’s house and accept how tired I felt, going back and forth from emotional to joking sometimes joking can be emotional too like I'm talking about all the H I did in the bathroom and that's why I can't get up off the bed it was the H. Actually this story is before the bed, when I'm talking about JoAnne although can't we go back to the bed, the bed’s a better place for this story I can stare at the ceiling, the way the paint cracks and there are circles that look like metal arranged evenly across the ceiling, Grant thinks maybe it's a decoration.

I was thinking about JoAnne, this time when I got back to our apartment on Sycamore, Sycamore where I got my name because it was the first place where I felt like I had a home -- at one point we were all queer vegan incest survivors, everyone living in the house and what could be a better opportunity except when everything was crashing down? I mean: especially when everything was crashing down. We were always throwing pint glasses out the window that we’d borrowed from cafés, that was my habit for dealing with rage I didn't think about other people who I might be scaring it just felt so crucial to hear something smash.

JoAnne and I would make all sorts of weird concoctions, drugs that we thought were safer than the ones we didn't want to do anymore. Like JoAnne had these heavy-duty caffeine pills that were big in Vancouver, black beauties they were called -- maybe they were speed but they felt like caffeine not like the bitter crystals that secured certain downfall we weren't afraid. We’d pour out the contents of the black capsules, such a pure white on the beautiful shard from an antique mirror that accidentally cracked, then we’d cut up Xanax and do lines, we just loved that feeling of the drugs up our noses even if they got stuck, we rolled up toilet paper and moistened it, snorted the drops of water to bring everything further into our heads.

It kind of worked, especially nights with margaritas at La Rondalla, margaritas reminded me of Las Rocas in high school but now I’d gotten away there was so much more to think about like JoAnne and the safety we were trying to create, this meant most of all holding one another, holding one another, holding one another. I mean we cried, honey we cried and we loved it this was new it meant we were getting somewhere.

I remember these junkies JoAnne started bringing over the house, they were a couple and very styley in that way that only junkies can be styley, leaning in all directions looking up and around like birds -- an elegance about decay almost a celebration they were in this together they always had pills they wanted to sell, the first time one of them brought over a burrito it had meat in it I told her to eat it on the front steps that was just the rules. The junkies were okay with our rules they were the kind of junkies who were always trying to kick except first they needed a fix, that kind of junkie except JoAnne was in love with one of them.

The first time, no maybe not the first time but the first time I was there and the junkies were gone and JoAnne was in her room on the rocking chair with her eyes closed, I said can I come in? She said sure but didn't open her eyes, I sat down. Are you tired? No, she said -- I'm just looking at the colors, I love the colors. I wanted to hold her but I couldn't, she was somewhere else. I said what are you feeling? She said I don't know but I don't want to open my eyes I'm listening to you I'm not sleepy I'm hyper-aware.

Oh, right -- this is the story I'm telling Grant while sitting on his futon but wait I moved it to the bed so that I could look at the ceiling. I'm not sleepy I'm hyper-aware. It's supposed to be a funny story.

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