April 9, 2013
The landlord came by yesterday asking me why I wasn’t doing the painting and shit he asked me to do. I said I’ve been sick. He said yeah that I looked sick but in the working world people do what they gotta do and don’t puss out because of the sniffles. I was like ok yeah I get it so I got to work. I’m not really sick but according to him I look sick.
Anyway it’s a lot of fucking work but it’s kind of Zen, gets me into a zone and keeps me busy and I’m able to skip two months rent as a result. There are six apartments including mine, and Flower’s. So the first thing I did was make sure nobody was home and then I went in the other four apartments. I didn’t want to look for money, well I did, but I thought I’d get caught. So I just looked around for booze and pills. My total booty was: 1 bottle of beer, a to go coffee mug full of whiskey, a bottle of wine from an entire rack, there was vodka but I hate vodka but I took it anyway because it’s a good way to drink and not smell like liquor when you’re out and it’s not an appropriate time and place to be drinking. For pills I got: Zoloft, Concerta, Demerol, and Anatensol Decanoate. At first I was going to take only a few pills, but instead I just took the whole bottles. I figured people would guess they lost the bottles but they would notice if pills were missing. Also, I didn’t plan to go in and do the baseboards today, only the halls and stairwells, then it couldn’t be blamed on me because supposedly I’d never gone in there. I don’t like to steal but I just don’t have any money.
After I collected these things, I got to work. I took some Demerol and Concerta which gave me a relaxed kind of numb buzz that I leveled off with the mug of whiskey, which I refilled with vodka and wine throughout my time working. I guess I passed out on the stairs though because Pete woke me up when he got home. I was surprised because I thought I was working really well in the zone but I guess the zone slipped me into unconsciousness. He had an early day because he had a doctor’s appointment, so I don’t think anyone else came home and saw me like that, which is good because they’d probably suspect I was the med thief. Pete was not happy. Kind of pissed. He’s beginning to get on my nerves with all his fucking scrutiny. I mean I’m working so we don’t have to pay rent and he’s looking at me like I’m a piece of shit.
So I put away the paint and tools and stuff and collected some things and left. I didn’t know how long I planned to leave for, but I put my journal and pen, some booze, pills, pot, water, cigarettes, and a sweatshirt in my backpack and left, told Pete I was going for a walk. I didn’t have any money. I didn’t have anyone I could borrow from, besides Flower. I hitchhiked to Boston, got one ride the whole way there from some freak who wanted me to suck his dick after. For a second I thought …well maybe if he gives me some money… but then I was like, wtf am I thinking??? I said no and took off. I went to the Common and lied down under a tree and took a nap.
I walked to a bar around dusk and started a tab hoping I’d be able to slip out without paying but I forgot it was a Monday and probably wouldn’t be busy, so I’d have to run. I just drank and plotted and at some point I forgot to plot because I was too drunk. I kept going out for cigarettes but the bouncer/carder was at the door and he was kind of talkative, going on and on. I think he was bored because it was so slow, so he was talking to me like I was his friend.
Finally I was like, “look man, I been drinking and I just realized I have no money, what am I going to do?”
He said, “Ah, don’t worry about it, you’re cool, I’ll talk to the guy.”
I was like, “cool, thanks man” and ”see ya” and I left before it got complicated or before he realized just how much I’d been drinking. I guess he bonded with me or something. Things like that don’t happen every day, so I have to be grateful and not disregard them when they do.
That was about 11pm and I went and found another bar that was busier. I was having my first drink when I realized that it was a cop bar. Mostly all off duty cops patroned the place. I said to the bartender before I finished the drink. “Shit I forgot my cash and I don’t have an ATM.” He grabbed the glass and said, “see ya pal.”
I walked out of there and went back to the park. Back on a bench. I noticed I was hungry and it was this gripping, squeezing hunger that turned my stomach so much I thought I was going to puke. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. What the fuck is wrong with me? I have no where to go, I have no money, I have no life. I’m 23 years old this is pathetic. I officially declared myself a loser at that moment. A hungry loser.
I thought of going to have an enlightening conversation with a homeless guy. I imagined sitting with him and sharing my bottle of vodka with him. He’d tell me how he came to be where he was and maybe it would be a familiar tale to me. He’d tell me about his life, his dreams, and his ultimate failures, and how though he’s contented himself to be where he is, he has many regrets. Then we’d break out in a drunken rendition of “My Way.” I’d leave there having learned many things about my self and with new ambitions to bring about change in my life. He’d change me and my life would evolve for the better as a result. It would be the most life altering experience I’d ever had. Just like in the movies. So I walked around looking for the homeless people. Some were scary, some were swearing to their own Shadowy Guys, and the only approachable one smelled like shit. So I walked, and staggered and found my way to the Charles. I leaned over the bridge and all I could think to do was jump. But obviously I didn’t.
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